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Scanned from the collections of 
The Library of Congress 




Packard Campus 

for Audio Visual Conservation 

www.loc.gov/avconservation 

Motion Picture and Television Reading Room 
www.loc.gov/rr/mopic 

Recorded Sound Reference Center 
www.loc.gov/rr/record 




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Publisher's Bind, 




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VIVID COLOR PICTURES OF 


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RING IN THE NEW 

... a new beauty-thrill 
for you! Besides revealing 
up to 33 percent more lustre 
than any soap or soap sham- 
poo, Drene, with Hair Condi- 
tioning action, leaves your hair 
smooth and easy to manage right after 
' your shampoo. For this party hair-do, 
Drene Girl Arline Dahlman ties all her 
hair high in back and swirls it around on top. 



ON CHRISTMAS MORNING, Arline sweeps her 
hair into two side loops, with a top curl for added 
height. "And for added glamour," she says, "I 
always keep my hair Drene-clean." Drene is 
not a soap shampoo . . . never leaves dull- 
ing film on hair as all soaps do. And . . . 
Drene removes unsightly dandruff 
flakes the first time you use it. 



Fllo other shorn poo leawes ^our ftciir 

more lustrous, yet so ea§^ to manaqe! 

Christmas at its merriest . . . New Year's at its happiest . . . and lovely you at your loveliest 
...your Drene-clean hair shining-bright, alight with all its natural lustre! 
Here, famous Magazine Cover Girl and Drene Girl, Arline Dahlman, 
shows you the two holiday hair-dos she likes best. "But first," suggests 
Arline, "make sure your hair is at its gleaming, glamorous best,. . . by 
using Drene Shampoo with Hair Conditioning action." No other 
shampoo leaves your hair more lustrous, 
yet so easy to manage. 




Shampoo with 
Hciir Conditioning Action 














CUPID: Can't fire me, Missy. I quit. I- 
GIRL: Loafer! 
CUPID: —can't do anything for a Granite Face 
who won't even break down and beam at a man 
once in a while! 

GIRL: Ho! And what've I got to beam with, 
pray? I brush my teeth— and regularly- 
but there's no beam about them! 
CUPID: But there is "pink" on your 
tooth brush, perhaps? 
GIRL: Only lately. And only a touch... Why? 
CUPID: That's for your dentist to say, Sis. 
Because even a tinge of "pink" is a 
warning to see your dentist. Let him 
decide, not you. He may say it's simply a 
case of soft foods robbing your gums of 
exercise. If so, he may suggest 
"the helpful stimulation of Ipana and massage." 
GIRL: Ah-h-h. And right away I've 
got a smile like Klieg lights, huh? 
CUPID: Not so fast, Muffinhead. Sparkling 
smiles call for sound teeth. And sound 
teeth for healthy gums. And Ipana's 
designed not only to clean teeth but, with 
massage, to help gums. And if your dentist 
suggests gentle massage with Ipana when you 
brush your teeth . . . pay attention! You'll be 
off to the man-trappingest smile you ever 
wore! Check on it! 




4^%* an* 




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Product o) Bristol-Myers 




JANUARY, 1947 








This is the time when things 
really begin to happen: Radio Mir 
ror is opening out in all directions 
at once. February brings so many 
new features we can t list them 
all but as examples, take a new 
Homemaker section, with more 
about food and beauty; many 
more brief biographies with hard- 
to-get information about the radio 
personalities you're interested in; 
more stories of all kinds — more 
pictures — and many more full- 
color illustrations. 



You'll be 
visiting one 
ot radio s 
most excit- 
ing lamilies; 
Kay Kyser 
and Georgia 
««JKgliffi Carroll hold 

open house 
and intro- 
duce you to their young one. 
Another young-married household 
comes into our cover girl report on 
Ginny Simms. Norma Nilsson. 
the youngster who does such a 
man-sized job on the Jack Carson 
program, compares her life with 
that of the average non-profes- 
sional child: George A Putnam 
and his wife think back to their 
courting days. 



And, to take you back to the 
way February snow-time should 
really be spent, knee-deep in coun 
try drifts, 
there's a 
story about 
One Man's 
Family and a 
snowf ight 
that cleared 
up a lot ot 
things, with 
pictures that 
show the whole of this family that 
so many of you feel almost be- 
longs with your own 

For fun, Jimmy Durante and 
Garry Moore, in pictures. We 
can t predict what they will be 
doing — who can ever tell? But that 
they will have the unmistakable 
Durante-Moore flavor, we guar- 
antee 

More pages, more features, more 
pictures, more color — more radio 
That's February! 





- 



VOL. 27, JVO. 2 



Facing the Music by Ken Alden 4 

Figure This Way 8 

What's New From Coast To Coast By Dale Banks 10 

About Marriage by John J. Anthony 19 

A Thousand Good Wishes — New Year's Eve with Today's Children 20 

We Broke The Bank! 22 

Lora Lawton — In Living Portraits 24 

Christmas Song For Jimmie by Dr. Preston Bradley 28 

Come and Visit Dinah Shore 30 

Between The Bookends by Ted Nialone 34 

Ring For Her Finger by Jack Smith 36 

At Glamour Manor — A Picture-Story 38 

Always On Her Way — Cover Girl Eve Arden 42 

Life Can Be Beautiful < 44 

He Flies Through The Air 46 

Happy Re-New Year by Kale Smith 50 

Inside Radio 51 

ON THE COVER— Eve Arden, of NBC's Village Store. Color Portrait by John Engstead. 



Fred R. Summis 
Editorial Director 



Evelyn L. Fiore 
Associate Editor 



Doris McFerran 

Editor 



Marjorie Wallace 
Assistant Editor 



Jack Zasorin 
Art Director 



Frances Maly 
Associate Arc Director 



RADIO MIRROR, published monthly by MACFADDEN PUBLICATIONS. INC., New York, 
General Business, Editorial and Advertising Offices: 205 East 42nd St., New York 17, N. Y. O. J. 
Harold Wise. Senior Vice President; S. O Shapiro, Vice President; Herbert Drake, Vice President; 
Secretary and Treasurer; Edward F. Lethen, Advertising Director. Chicago Office, 221 North LaSal 
Gage, Mgr. Pacific Coast Clfkes: San Fran-ism, 420 Market Street: Hollywood. 321 So. Beverly Di 
Manager. Reentered as Second Class matter March 15, 1946. at the Post Office at Nl-w York, N. Y., 
March 3. 1879. Subscription rates: U. S. and Possessions. $1.80 per year. All other countries 
Price per copy: 15c in the United States, 25c in Canada. While Manuscripts. Photographs, and Di 
mitted at the owner's risk, everv effort will be made to return those found unavailable if accompar 
first class postage and explicit name and address. Contributors are especially advised to be sure to 
their contributions; otherwise they are taking unnecessary risk. The contents of this magazine may 
either wholly or in part, without permission. 

(Member of Macfadden Women's Group) 

Copyright 1946 by Macfadden Publications, Inc. Copyright also in Canada, Registered at Stationers' Hall, Great Britain. 

Printed in U. S. A. by Art Color Printing Co.. Dunellen. N. J. 



N. Y. 
Elder. President: 

Meyer Dworkin, 
Ie St.. Leslie R. 
\, Lee Andrews, 
under the Act of 
$3.00 per year, 
•a wings are sub- 
ied by sufficient 

retain copies of 
not be reprinted 



AFTER THE PARTY LOOk Ollt fOT & Cold... 




LISTERINE ANTISEPTIC 




Going from over-heated rooms into the chilly 
' night air often can lower body resistance 
so that cold germs called the "secondary 
invaders" may invade the tissue. After a party 
it's only sensible to gargle with Listerine Anti- 
septic when you reach home because this pre- 
caution may forestall a mass invasion by these 
germs. 

While a virus is believed to start many colds, 
Certain threatening germs called the "secondary 
invaders" produce many of those miserable 
symptoms of a cold and its complications. 

Anything that lowers body resistance, such 
as wet or cold feet, drafts, fatigue, or sudden 
change of temperature, may make it easier for 
the "secondary invaders" to stage a mass in- 
vasion of the tissue. 

Listerine Antiseptic — Quick! 

So, when you've been thus exposed, gargle 
with Listerine Antiseptic at once. Used early 
and often Listerine Antiseptic, because of its 



amazing germ -killing power, may halt such 
mass invasions . . . may help head off the cold 
entirely or lessen its severity. 

It is the delightful, easy precaution that 
countless thousands use regularly, night and 
morning, and oftener when they feel a cold 
coming on. 

Fewer Colds and Sore Throats in Tests 
Bear in mind that tests during 12 years re- 
vealed this impressive result: Those who gar- 
gled with Listerine Antiseptic twice a day had 
fewer colds and usually milder colds than those 
who did not gargle . . . and fewer sore throats. 

Get into the habit of using Listerine Anti- 
septic regularly and, at the first sneeze . . ; 
the first tightening of the throat or other signs 
of a cold . . . increase the frequency of the 
gargle, meanwhile seeing rhat you get plenty 
of rest, that you keep warm, and that you 
eat wisely. 
Lambert Pharmacal Co., St. Louis, Missouri 




Betty Norton, surrounded 
by The Moon Maids. They 
supply feminine charm and 
feminine music on the 
Vaughn Monroe Show, CBS. 



By 

KEN ALDEK 




Wt& 




There's always a time and a place for 
music in Jack Owens' home. He's part 
of the fun on ABC's Breakfast Club. 



Nothing But Comedy 

SOME SHOW business sage once said 
the public recognizes the stars much 
before the alleged wise men of the 
profession. That statement couldn't be 
truer when applied to Louis Jordan. 

In 1940 Jordan was an obscure saxo- 
phone-playing singer at the helm of a 
group identified as the "Tympany Five," 
a unit going nowhere and making rapid 
strides toward oblivion. In May of that 
year, Louis played a week's engagement 
in Grand Forks, North Dakota for $350 
a week. On the last day of his date, the 
owner pulled Jordan's manager, Berle 
Adams, aside and said: 

"I can keep Louis another week. Is he 
committed anywhere else?" 

"No, he has open time," said Adams, 
"But you'll have to hike the price. We're 
asking $500 now." 

"Nonsense," screamed the cafe man, 
"He closes tonight." 

And Jordan did. His musicians 
packed their instruments and Louis his 
pride. 1940 lap-dissolves into October 
of 1946 in Hollywood style, only not 
that painlessly. The years were packed 
with heartaches and sweat. 

Today, Jordan stands at the top of his 



profession. Barring the incomparable 
Crosby, he is rated just about the num- 
ber one Decca recording artist. His 
platters for that outfit sell upwards 
of 3,000,000 a year. His "Tympany 
Five," playing one-nighters and thea- 
ters around the country, commands top 
salaries for any small instrumental 
combination. Jordan, himself, has sung 
and clowned his way through four 
movies. He introduced his own tune, 
"Is You Is Or Is You Ain't My Baby" 
in the film, "Follow The Boys." He has 
had his share of lucrative radio guest 
shots with Kate Smith, Jack Smith, 
Perry Como, and Vaughn Monroe. 
Total earnings approximate a half-mil- 
lion a year. 

Now, bearing this in mind, let's pick 
up our Grand Forks promoter friend. 
He walked into the New York 400 Club 
a few weeks ago and watched Jordan 
do his midnight remote over CBS. 
Then he walked over to Louis and man- 
ager Adams and announced. 

"I've been thinking it over and I be- 
lieve I can meet your price. $500 is 
high, but okay. When can you start?" 

Jordan came out of Brinkley, Ark- 



ansas, the son of a Negro school teacher, 
specializing in music instruction. He 
went to grade school there, and was 
graduated, later, from Arkansas Bap- 
tist College. His original ambition was 
for the clergy but he was derailed 
by rhythm. After playing with his own 
undergraduate grouo at college, Jordan 
joined up with the Charley Gaines band 
in Philadelphia, in the sax section. Two 
years later, he was picked up by the 
late wizard of the drums, Chick Webb, 
and was with the tiny drumbeater for 
three years. 

One day, Webb called Louis aside and 
suggested Jordan form his own small 
group. That was probably the last bit 
of show business advice Webb ever 
gave anybody. Six weeks later he was 
dead. 

By 1940 Jordan was practically at 
the end of his musical rope. Here's the 
way he told it to me when I saw him 
in New York. 

"We had no bookings and no pros- 
pects of any. I walked into the offices 
of the General Artists Corporation, all 
set to quit. I waited an hour in the re- 
ception room for somebody to see me. 
Finally, a kid named Berle Adams, then 
a $20 a week office boy, walked up to 
me and asked how things were going." 

Jordan told the lad the truth. "I can't 
get any decent bookings." 

The determined youngster decided to 
latch on to the discouraged musician. 
When Jordan left the booking office 
he had a new manager, the ex-office 
boy. 

In two weeks Jordan was playing as 
the relief band in Chicago's Capitol 
Lounge where the Mills Brothers were 
starring. 

"We were a tremendous flop," Louis 
said frankly. "I sang ballads straight. 
Nothing happened. We were just a big 
lull." 

The kid manager was worried. He 
had a new idea for his client. 

"Why not do comedy, Louis? The 
people want laughs." 

Jordan figured he had nothing to lose, 
dug up a frocked coat, horn-rimmed 
glasses, and out of the trunk a comedy 
tune called "Cherry." 

Adams was right. The customers ate 
it up and from that time on, Jordan 




In 1940, Louis Jordan was making 
rapid strides toward oblivion. 
But look what's happened since! 




jToUT OF lO TISSUE USERS SAY 



Of all brands 
I like Kleenex 





One tissue stands far ahead of all other 
brands in public preference . . . and that 
one tissue is Kleenex ! 

In a certified nation-wide poll of thou- 
sands of tissue users, 7 out of every 10 
went on record to say: "Of all tissues, Hike 
Kleenex best!" 

7 out of 10. Such overwhelming prefer- 
ence shows there must be a real difference 
between Kleenex Tissues and other 
brands. A special process used only for 
Kleenex keeps this tissue luxuriously soft, 
dependably strong. That's why others 
cant be "just like Kleenex." 

And only Kleenex of all tissues gives 
you the handy Serv-a-Tissue Box. Yes, 



*T.M. Reg. U. S. Pat. Off. 



MORE KLEENEX 



being made than ever before. 
So keep asking for it! 

only with Kleenex can you pull a tissue 
and have the next one pop up ready for 
use. 

So keep asking for Kleenex — America's 
favorite tissue. Each and every month 
there'll be more and more Kleenex Tissues 
for you. 






VJ/ According to all indications this 
young lady's very first encore of a 
Park Avenue tumbler will be far 
from her last. The fact is she's a 
very discriminating woman. 

\J/ You see, more women have encored 
with their purchases, the fresh spar- 
kling beauty of the Park Avenue than 
any other tumbler ever made. 

VJ/ Furthermore, since the turn of 
the century, Federal-fashioned 
tumblers, tableware, beverage 
sets, occasional and ornamental 
pieces have graced millions and 
millions of American homes. 

^7 Look for the Shield ^? of Fed- 
eral when you buy glassware. It's 
your assurance of lovely crystal, un- 
matched in color, clarity and bril- 
liance, at a very low cost. 

THE FEDERAL GLASS COMPANY 
Columbus 7, Ohio 




Fe6eral 

ADDS DISTINCTION TO YOUR DAILY SERVICE 



looked for and found tunes like "Buzz 
Me," "Caldonia," and "Knock Me A 
Kiss." 

Indisputable proof that Jordan was 
finally on the right road came in 
Houston, Texas. Jordan was set for a 
one night stand there. It rained all 
afternoon, finally clearing early in the 
evening. When Jordan drove up to the 
auditorium there were twenty people 
out front. But an hour later, 9,100 
people were storming the place. 

"I'll never forget that night," Louis 
told me, "it was the happiest experience 
in my life. I knew then that the peo- 
,ple really liked our stuff." 

Jordan's problems are still not over. 
The heavy-set dark-skinned musician 
is worried over the condition of his 
wife, Fleecie, his home-town sweet- 
heart. Mrs. Jordan has been ailing for 
a good number of years and at this 
writing is hospitalized. 

Another thing that bothers Louis is 
that he will not be able to outgrow his 
comedy musical casting. He would like 
to try something more serious, toyed 
with the idea of getting a dramatic role 
in the all-Negro play, "Anna Lucasta." 

"But everytime I get ideas like that 
Berle Adams reminds me of our Chi- 
cago flop and I renew my search for 

stock comedy material." 

* * * 

For the first time in his life Bing 
Crosby is reading bad press notices 
about his performances, with recording 
critics leveling heavy critical barrages 
at The Groaner's recent outputs of 
Decca discs. 

Give a salute to Ted Lewis who is 
currently celebrating his thirty-fifth 
year in show business and ran a bat- 
tered top hat and corny clarinet into a 
one man institution. 

* * * 

The hottest swing group to come up in 
many a moon is Joe Mooney's Trio, now 
drawing swing savants to a West Fifty- 
second Street nitery, called Dixon's. 
Blind Joe Mooney is a former Paul 
Whiteman arranger. 

* * * 

Rudy Vallee has confided to friends 
that he has just about given up his 
ambitions to become a radio comedian 





Three new movies, cashier on Meet Me 
At Parky's, singer on Something For 
The Family — Joan Barton's a busy girl. 



Perennial favorite — and better every 
year — is mellow-voiced Georgia Gibbs, 
of the Tony Martin Show, on CBS. 



and has reverted back to a singing 
master of ceremonies. It was Rudy's 
insistence that he could become a big 
radio success this year in an unfamiliar 
role that caused the big fight between 
the erstwhile crooner and NBC. The 
network tried to prevent the show from 
going on its air. But after a few broad- 
casts, the reception on the part of press 
and public was a confirmation of NBC's 
judgment and Rudy threw in a reluc- 
tant towel. 

* * * 

Ginny Simms turned down an invita- 
tion to appear before the King and 
Queen of England in a command per- 
formance because she felt she could not 
leave her little baby for any lengthy 
period of time. It's nice to know that 
Ginny is giving priority to motherhood 

over career, when the chips are down. 

* * * 

They say that Kate Smith's sponsor. 
with whom she has been working for 
many years, is about to release the 
Southern Songbird next season. Kate 
won't have any trouble getting a new 
bankroller and several automobile com- 
panies are already bidding for her serv- 
ices. Naturally, the inevitable Mr. Col- 
lins will handle the negotiations. 

* % * 

The disappointing results of the Alice 
Faye-Phil Harris show may discourage 
other radio-real life teams like Harry 
James and Betty Grable from follow- 
ing in their footsteps. Only the Ozzie 
Nelson-Harriet Hilliard show has con- 
tinued to be bright and well written. 

* * * 

Carroll Gibbons. London's most pop- 
ular orchestra leader, is coming over to 
this country. American-born Carroll 
stayed in London right through the 
blitz, although he could have easily 
found sanctuary in his native land. This 
won him a permanent place in the 
hearts of British dance band fans. 

It's good news that the King Cole Trio 
now have a show of their own on CBS 
helping to break the prejudice of an all- 
Negro radio show that has been a wall 
of resistance for many fine Negro 
artists, like Duke Ellington, Count Basie 
and others, who have not succeeded in 
getting radio sponsors. 



Margaret Whiting was such an im- 
mediate click on Eddie Cantor's show 
that the banjo-eyed comedian gifted 

the singer with a diamond watch. 
* * * 

The increasing interest on the part 
of radio and record listeners in classi- 
cal music has prompted a number of 
dance orchestras to add to their reper- 
toires dance versions of timeless pieces, 
a vogue first started by Freddy Mar- 
tin. Now word comes that Vaughn 
Monroe has added a six-piece string 
section to his band, so he can concen- 
trate on music of this type. Credit for 
this interest must go to Hollywood, 
where classical music has been spot- 
lighted in a number of new films and 
performers like Lauritz Melchior, Kath- 
ryn Grayson and Jose Iturbi have been 
given important roles. 



NEW RECORDS 



Ken Alden's 
FAVORITES FOR THE MONTH 

CARLOS MOLINA: Spanish- 
American tempos and two good 
numbers, "I'm Learning to Speak 
English" and "Palabras De Mu- 
jer." (Capitol) 

KING COLE TRIO: On the solid 
side with "For Sentimental Rea- 
sons" and "The Best Man." 
(Capitol) 

HARRY COOL: A young man to 
keep listening to. Hear him sing 
the hit, "Rumors Are Flying" and 
"The Whole World Is Singing My 
Song." (Signature) 

DINAH SHORE: Miss D. has a 
winner with "I May Be Wrong" 
and "The Violet Song." (Co- 
lumbia) 

HARRY JAMES: Slick stuff with 
"Beaumont Ride" and "Why Does 
It Get So Late So Early?" 
(Columbia) 

ARTIE SHAW: Back to form 
thanks to two Cole Porter fa- 
vorites, "You Do Something to 
Me" and Shaw's first big hit, "Be- 
gin the Beguine." (Musicraft) 
SPIKE JONES: Something dif- 
ferent for Spike is this new Victor 
disc, "Minka" and "Lassus Trom- 
bone." Try it. 

TEDDY WALTERS: A new voice 
and a pleasant guitar accom- 
paniment. His first Musicraft disc 
contains "What Is There To Say" 
and "My Heart Stood Still." 

BENNY GOODMAN: The best 
Goodman disc in a long time fea- 
tures "Blue Skies" and "Put That 
Kiss Back." Artie Lund does a tip 
top vocal. (Columbia) 

VAUGHN MONROE: That man 
again, this time with "Things We 
Did Last Summer" and "More 
Now Than Ever." (Victor) 
FALA: A children's album based 
on the experiences of F.D.R.'s 



famed Scottie. 
Xmas gift. 



(Monarch) A good 





Mother, this is an invitation— an invitation already 
accepted by millions of mothers who have fed their 
happy, healthy babies on Gerber's Cereals. 

Gerber's Cereal Food, Gerber's Strained Oatmeal 
and Gerber's Barley Cereal are specially made to 
suit baby, both as starting cereals and continuing through 
babyhood. For instance, they are made to mix creamy smooth 
— a consistency close to baby's milk diet. Next, these cereals 
are rich in added iron ... to replenish the loss of prenatal 
iron which begins to run low some months after birth. 

Here is another advantage! All have generous amounts 
of added B complex vitamins (from natural sources — not 
synthetic) as a further aid to baby's Well-being. Your baby 
will do well on Gerber's Cereals, too. Look for "America's 
Best-Known Baby" on every package! 





Now, another Gerber's Cereal! 

Gerber's Cereal Food (blue box), Gerber's Strained 
Oatmeal (red box), and the new Gerber's Barley 
Cereal (yellow box) are pre-cooked, ready-to-serve 
right in baby's dish by adding milk or formula 
(hot or cold). Serve Gerber's Cereal Food and 
Gerber's Strained Oatmeal or Gerber's Barley 
Cereal at alternate meals. You'll find variety helps 
baby's appetite. 

Remember, it is always wise to check your baby's 
feeding program with your doctor, 

erber's Baby Foods 

FREMONT, MICH. ..OAKLAND, CAL. " 



CEREALS 



STRAINED FOODS 



CHOPPED FOODS 

© 1946, G. P. C. 



FREE SAMPLES-Please send me 
samples of Gerber's Cereal Food, 
Gerber's Strained Oatmeal and 
Gerber's Barley Cereal. My 
baby is now months old. 



Address: Gerber Products Co., Dept. Wl-7, Fremont, Mich. 

In Canada: Dept. Wl-7, 49 Wellington Street East, Toronto l,Ont. 



Name- 



Address City and State.. 





From your figure's point of view 
no day need be wasted. Trim while you 
work, relax with a clear conscience, 
as does radio actress Alice Frost. 




Stretch up for 
posture's sake. 




Don't .jackknife; 
just kneebend. 



HOLLYWOOD would get a lot more 
competition in the heavenly body 
department if we "civilians" 
would go through with all the exer- 
cising we periodically vow we'll do. 
Somewhere in the shuffle, our good 
resolutions to exercise die an early 
death. It seems that unless we gals 
join a class or pay for an exercise 
course by mail (money well invested) , 
we don't follow through on all the 
wonderful figure-trimming recipes 
we know or read about. 

Maybe we're lazy. But probably it's 
more a matter of not having the ex- 
ercise habit. Or perhaps it is that pure- 
ly routine exercise isn't much fun. 

The trick then is to sugar-coat the 
pill and do our exercising while we're 
doing something else. You can, for in- 
stance, work on a double chin while 
you're doing the dishes, hanging cur- 
tains, writing a letter. Drop your 
lower jaw and as you close your 
mouth slowly, stretch your lower lip 
up over the upper one as far as possi- 
ble. This exercise is even better if 
your head is tilted backward. It's a 
crazy grimace but good even for up- 
per chest muscles. Or you can do this 
good facial exercise. Form a small 
"O" with your lips and twist your 
mouth as far to the right as you can. 



Then to the left. But don't overdo 
these or any other exercises. Work 
up gradually. Luckily we can do 
something about tummies that pro- 
trude while doing almost any kind of 
work — filing, -at the kitchen sink, sit- 
ting at a typewriter. It's a matter of 
relaxing your stomach and then pull- 
ing it in. Do it several times a day 
at first. Thereafter do it as often as 
you think of it and try to think of it 
often. If you're inclined to sway- 
back particularly, and even if you're 
not, make sure your hips are tucked 
under you. 

Housework done the way most 
women do it is one thing but if you 
tried pretending that you're a bal- 
lerina you'd do it with flourishes. In 
picking something up from the floor 
for instance, why should we always 
bend over like a hairpin? Instead, try 
it this way: Stand on one foot, fling 
the other out straight behind you and 
with your overworked back kept 
straight as a ramrod, slowly lower 
your torso till you can get that ravel- 
ing, the baby's ball or whatever it is 

RADIO MIRROR'S 

HOME and BEAUTY 



that needs picking up. Going from one 
room to another, why not walk on 
your tip-toes with arms stretching 
upwards? Awfully good for your 
waistline. Dusting can be exercise 
too. Forget your kitchen ladder or the 
footstool if, by stretching, you can 
dust the top of pictures, polish the 
mirror or put dishes away on a high 
shelf. 

Continually leaning over with your 
back in a curve is killing but making 
your legs do some of the work is 
figure wisdom. Instead of leaning 
over to dust the lower rungs of a 
chair or tuck in the bed sheets, why 
not keep your back straight and with 
your sitdown almost touching your 
heels, squat way down to do such 
work. Tough exercise at first but 
good for legs and thighs. 

There are many odd moments dur- 
ing the day when you're waiting for 
water to boiL the iron to heat, which 
you can profitably spend trying to 
slim your hips. While you stand, beat 
the soft flesh with your clenched fists. 
In a sitting position you can tighten 
the muscles of your buttocks and relax 
them. Do it often. It's good exercise 
that no one need be conscious of but 
you. As you go about your shopping, 
practice stretching up tall, hips tucked 





Reach for what 
you want— grace! 



A 






■L^h 


0JT 


Check 
in p 4 


your walk 

issing. 



under, head high. As you walk past 
s'tore. windows, take a sidelong glance 
at your posture just to check on how 
gracefully, how proudly you walk. 
Where posture is concerned, keep in 
mind that an imaginary line drawn 
from your ear's tip downward should 
pass through your shoulder, center 
thigh, knee, and just in front of the 
ankle bone. 

In elevators, or wherever you get 
the chance to stand against a wall, 
practice posture and work to over- 
come a lordosis curve (sway-back to 
you) . With hips tucked under, tummy 
pulled in, try to get every vertebra 
in your spinal column to touch the 
wall. And if you can stretch your 
arms high and straight above your 
head while in this position, do it for 
your waistline and bustline's sake. 
But stretch! 

If you occasionally ignore your 
kitchen and dust mops and do the 
scrubbing and dusting on hands and 
knees, tummy pulled in, you'll use 
some more muscles you've forgotten 
about. 

We don't claim that exercising this 
way will roll away excess pounds but 
it should help re-align your figure, 
tighten flabby muscles, improve your 
posture and slim your waistline. 




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Pacquins Hand Cream can help give them a lady- 
of-leisure look! Use Pacquins several times a day 
. . . this snowy fragrant cream will quickly ease 
away roughness, redness, and dryness. 





Pacquins was originally made 
for doctors and nurses . . . 

Doctors and nurses who scrub their hands in hot 
soapy water 30 to 40 times a day. Pacquins Hand 
Cream, super-rich in skin-softening ingredients, 
was first made for their professional use. If 
Pacquins can do so much for them . . . just imag- 
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AT ANY DRUG, DEPARTMENT, OR TEN-CENT STORE 




A clan should gather eagerly at 
the skirl of the bagpipes; but 
the children of John MacVane, 
NBC news commentator, look 
more as if their father had 
hypnotized them into remaining. 



WHAT'S DEW from COAST 




By 
DALE BANKS 



A Day In The Life of Dennis Day is spent 
behind a soda-fountain on the singer-com- 
edian's NBC Thursday show, 7:30 EST. 




Newest husband-and-wife comedy team: 
Alice Faye and Phil Harris, on NBC's 
Bandwagon, Sunday nights at 7:30 EST. 



jWOW that the Bing has gone in for his 
11 transcribed show, practically every 
star on the air lanes has begun angling 
with his sponsors for the same breaks. 
It's understandable; they can make 
a whole batch of programs at once, 
and avoid the panic-factor in a radio 
production, the fear (not that seasoned 
performers suffer from it, but the 
possibility is always there), of send- 
ing out a less-than-perfect show. In 
addition to thinking of their own con- 
venience — and the stars aren't harp- 
ing on that too much, of course, because 
sponsors generally figure that they're 
buying a star including his at-his- 
convenience when they're shelling out 
big dough — the stars keep pointing out 
that a transcribed program would be 
flawless and thus provide better listen- 
ing. Better get to see all the broadcasts 
you'd like before this becomes too wide- 
spread a habit. Crosby has an audience 
for his transcriptions. 

* * * 

This is noteworthy only because we 
can't, to the best of our ability, re- 
member ever before hearing of a 
pretty girl who admitted that she 
wasn't also a great big talent. Sammy 
Kaye tells us that when he invited 
Eileen Henry — she was Miss New York 
in last year's Miss America contest — to 
audition with his band, Miss Henry 
turned him down. At first, Sammy 
thought he couldn't believe his ears — 
then he thought the young lady wanted 
to be coaxed. But that, it turned out, 
wasn't it, at all. Miss Henry just an- 
swered very sweetly that nothing 
would please her more than to be able 
to sing with his band — but — she just 
can't sing! 

* * * 

Joseph C. Harsch — CBS news an* 



10 



The flawless fiddle technique of 
comedian Benny adds musical value 
to his Sunday night NBC program. 




to COAST 



alyst — is still trying to figure out 
exactly how this came about. Seems, 
one day recently, he was working away 
in his office, preparing his script for 
the broadcast, when he was disturbed 
by strange noises coming from the air- 
conditioning unit. Sometimes, it can 
be dangerous when things go wrong 
with those gadgets, especially in an 
office like Harsch's, which has no other 
form of ventilation. So he promptly 
called a couple of experts. As soon as 
one of the experts touched the unit, 
there was a fluttering of wings and a 
white pigeon flew out and beat its way 
around the office until it was released, 
via several doors and a window. What 
bothers Harsch is that he can't find 
any explanation for how the pigeon 
got in there in the first place. 



Here's an item. As we go to press it 
comes to our attention that a Boston 
advertising firm has applied to the FCC 
for a license to develop an outdoor tele- 
vision station, which will screen its 
programs on billboards. We can see 
that the idea is novel. So will a lot of 
motorists and pedestrians and plain old 
hitch-hikers. And that leads us to 
wonder what the National Safety Coun- 
cil has to say about it. Considering the 
Council's rather appalling figures on 
the number of deaths per year in these 
United States, deaths caused by auto- 
mobile accidents, we wonder whether 
it's wise to add a hazard. 
* * * 

Sidelights on human behavior: Harry 
Bartel, who provides that deep fore- 
boding voice which announces the 
Casebook of Gregory Hood show, tells 
us that radio actors — even the ones who 
specialize in the chiller-diller dramas 



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11 



Don Ameche and his son Lonnie (known as 
Slug) rushed over to be first in line at the 
opening of a new Hollywood ice cream parlor. 





Bob Hope and Jerry Colonna, out for a quiet ride in their 
jeep, met a whole crowd of people: a photographer for one; 
also young starlets Dorothy Porter and Gloria Saunders. 




When bored Blanch visited Art Linkletter's People Are Funny 
(NBC) to prove that elephants never forget, she was intro- 
duced to two awed young Linkletters, Dawn and Arthur Jack. 



— are just as anxious to find out how 
the plot works out as any listener. He 
says that nine out of ten actors he's 
watched at first rehearsals of mystery 
programs turn to the last few pages 
before they read the whole script 
through from the beginning. 
* * * 

Bet you didn't know that singing 
star Gene Autry just missed being a 
baseball player by a narrow margin 
and some $50. It seems he played pro 
ball back in the mid-20's and was 
offered a job with the Texas League. 
But the money involved was only $100 
a month, which happened to be $50 
less than Autry was earning at the 
time as a railroad telegraph (bet you 
didn't know that, either) operator. So 
it was no deal. 



Paul Lavalle has organized and con- 
ducted many different types of orches- 
tras in recent years, ranging all the 
way from the hot jazz combo of Lower 
Basin Street to the all-string, longhair 
Stradivari orchestra. Now, he's organ- 
ized a tin pan band. 

In cooperation with the musical edu- 
cation plan of New York's Children's 
Aid Society, Lavalle organized a chil- 
dren's orchestra made up of kids from 
four to eight years of age. The young- 



12 



sters are being taught basic music 
rhythms by beating on tin pans and 
kettles, in conjunction with Lavalle's 
theory of mathematical rhythm for- 
mulas for music study. 

There's a sidelight on this, too. No 
sooner had Lavalle developed this 
novel idea for the Children's Aid So- 
ciety, than the manufacturers of pots 
and pans were calling him up, offering 
all kinds of new utensils to be used — 
the utensils to be donated free, of 
course, in return for some publicity. 
But Lavalle nixed that in the bud. His 
kids only play on old and battered 
kitchen utensils. The tone is better. 

* * * 

One of Mel Blanc's proudest posses- 
sions is a gigantic postcard, making 
him an honorary letter carrier in the 
National Association of Letter Carriers. 
Mel earned the honor through his role 
as the "Happy Postman," on the Burns 
and Allen show, by being instrumental 
in helping the letter carriers win a pay 
increase a while back. 

* * * 

Fannie Brice loves to tell this story 
about Jackie Kelk. Jackie made his 
debut on Fannie's show some years 
ago. He was nine years old at the time. 
Fannie says he may have been young, 
but he sure was determined that no- 
body would be able to say he didn't 
know his way around. He kept his eyes 
and ears open every second and made 
like a carbon copy of all the experi- 
enced actors. 

So, when Fannie Brice stepped out 
of her shoes a few minutes before air 
time, Jackie promptly stooped over and 
untied his oxfords and did his broad- 
cast in stockinged feet. The rest of the 
cast did itself proud. There wasn't even 
a snicker from anyone. But after the 
show, Fannie took the kid to the corner 
drug store and over an ice cream soda 
explained as tactfully as she could — so 
the sensitive kid wouldn't foe hurt — 
that it really wasn't necessary to take 
off one's shoes in order to broadcast. 
Fannie just did it because her feet 
hurt. 



Can a young wife escape this threat \o 

7g rfrr/jfi/jtssjjf r 





Blue-eyed and blonde Doris Single- 
ton is Alan Young's "Betty," Fri- 
day nights at 8:30 EST, over NBC. 



If only every married woman could learn the 
REAL truth about these Intimate Physical Facts! 



Often a marriage goes on "the rocks" 
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13 




Florence Williams is 
Mrs. Barry Cameron in the 
NBC drama; she's noted for 
her radio portrayals of 
"perfect wife" parts. 




No longer do Abbott and Costello have to struggle along just 

looking at each other. Singer Marilyn Maxwell is with them this season. 




Jack Bailey M.C.'s 
Queen For a Day (MBS) for 
a large audience, plays the 
piano for a much smaller 
—though enchanted — one. 



Talking about taking off shoes, it 
was reported to us that three female 
candidates for Arthur Godfrey's Tal- 
ent Scouts made the same request the 
other day. They asked whether it was 
all right to take off their shoes while 
auditioning. All three were singers and 
claimed they felt more relaxed without 

their shoes. 

* * * 

We understand that Hildegarde is one 
of the very few people in this country 
who uses only her first name to sign 
checks, contracts and other legal pa- 
pers. Oh, yes, she has got a full name 
but very few people know what it is. 
For your information it's Hildegarde 

Loretta Sell. 

* * * 

Rita Ascot, who portrayed Widdy 
Green on the National Barn Dance for 
four years, writes us from Chicago 
that she's only now getting around to 
discovering what rural life is like first 
hand. She and her husband, WLS pro- 
duction manager Al Boyd, have started 
making excursions to their recently 
bought farm in the Fox River Valley 
and are trying to figure out how and 
when to go about their spring plowing. 
They intend to farm the place — if they 
can find out how. 

* ■ * • 

Come February, the moppets are em- 
barking on nursery school adventures 
again. We liked Myron Wallace's re- 
port of his four-year-old son's report 
of his first day at school. When Myron 
asked him in that familiar tone that all 
fathers always use to ask this question, 
"And what did you do at school today?" 
the boy answered calmly, "Well, first 
I cried and then I didn't." 

* * ' $ 

Here's something to send a few 
co-eds on their ears and on scouting 
missions on the New York University 
campus. Robert Merrill has been sing- 
ing in foreign languages for some years. 
But, like many singers, he's learned 
the foreign words phonetically from 
his coach. Bob got bored with that, 
considering it the hard way to learn 
the lyrics, because he wasn't always 
entirely clear as to what they meant. 
So, he's enrolled under an assumed 
name at the University and is studying 
French, German and Spanish. That's 
all the clue we're entitled to give. 

Conrad Binyon, 15-year-old Butch on 
the. Mayor of the Town, is going around 
with his chest stuck out these days. 
He's also got a new possibility for his 
future career. Because he's one of the 
most active juveniles in West Coast 
radio, he was chosen to direct the 
annual class play at Hollywood High 
and we hear that he acquitted himself 

nobly. 

* ■ * * 

Mistakes are always possible, but 
Cyril Armbruster, producer of the Ad- 
ventures of the Sea Hound, certainly 
tries to cover all contingencies. Just 
before broadcast time the other day, we 
found him leafing through a big dic- 
tionary. It was a dictionary of sea 
terms and he was making sure the 
script writers hadn't played fast and 
loose with any of the seafarer's lan- 
guage they'd put in the script. Arm- 
bruster also keeps a very large and 
detailed map of the West Indies on 
hand, to check locations mentioned in 
the script. Sort of an arm-chair ex- 
plorer. The question is, will he know 
so much about the West Indies that, 
come vacation, he will head in the op- 
posite direction. 



14 



Most agents are glad to be called 
agents and not flesh peddlers, or tenper- 
centers, these being among the milder 
and more printable of the appellations 
hurled at them as a rule. 

Alan Young, however, likes his agent, 
is openly grateful to him and blows 
his horn every chance he gets. Alan is 
also practical in his gratitude. He's just 
presented Frank Cooper, his agent, with 
a Hollywood home as a token of his 
appreciation. It was Cooper who, hear- 
ing Young broadcast from Canada, 
brought the young comic to America 
and you know what's happened since 
then. Incidentally, we're told that in 
addition to being a radio star and play- 
ing feature roles in two movies to date, 
Alan is at the moment busy writing a 

picture. 

* * * 

Here's where the myth that child 
prodigies usually grow into adults 
with arrested development gets another 
sock in the eye. Percy Faith, of the 
Contented Hour, was one of the pre- 
cocious kids that has made good. He 
started taking violin lessons at seven 
and did very well at them. Then his 
aunt got a piano which fascinated 
Percy so much that he started taking 
piano lessons, too. By the time he was 
ten he was so good on both instru- 
ments that he gave concerts on the 
piano and violin. 

* * * 

Victor H. Lindlahr, food expert on 
Mutual, is making a bid for fame. He 
bets that he's one man in America 
who's talked to the most women — 
without any comeback. He's been 
broadcasting for 17 years every week- 
day and that, in itself, is a kind of 

record. 

* * * 

Looking for a life of adventure? Try 
radio announcing, says Ken Carpenter, 
currently holding down the announcing 
assignment on the Life of Riley show. 
Ken has been knocked down by the 
winning horse, while describing a 
Santa Anita race. He's been pushed 
through a plate glass window, while 
working a big Los Angeles parade. 
He's tried to jump from one Navy 
destroyer to another, only to miss his 
footing and get his pants caught on a 
taffrail. He's even fallen down a cliff, 
while broadcasting special events from 
a moving mountain in L. A. What more 
could you ask? 

* * * 

The law of supply and demand is 
getting to work in favor of serious 
singers who are looking for a break. 
It's usually a very long haul to the 
Metropolitan Opera Company, which 
is the' goal of most vocal students. Now, 
there's a short cut in the offing. James 
Melton, we're told, is a good person 
to approach for an audition. His pro- 
gram is always on the search for fresh 
voices of an operatic caliber. 

* * * 

Recently, when an interviewer asked 
young Beverly Wills, daughter of Joan 
Davis and Si Wills, what she wanted 
to be when she grew up, Beverly an- 
swered, "I want to write stories like 
daddy and tell them like mummy." 
Beverly is almost always at rehearsals 
of the Joan Davis show and she gives 
promise of growing up with excellent 
taste. 

* * * 

It's getting to be quite a gag around 
the studio. They've taken to calling 
Jimmy Durante "Sweater Boy." It's 
only partly in fun, though. There's a 
good bit of envy of his collection. 



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15 



WHAT'S NEW from COAST to COAST 




One time when Charlie lets Bergen run 
things — when they're in, not on, the air. 




Richard Kollmar, Director Marx Loeb, Claire Trevor 
rehearse for a recent Reader's Digest dramatization. 




Patty Foster, six, earned herself 
television's first child contract. 




Zoo-visiting, George and Gracie take along just 
the thing to catch the eye of a youthful sea-lion. 



If you've got an ex-GI in your home — as who 
hasn't — and your ex-GI knows the least little thing 
about that wonderful legendary World War II figure 
Kilroy, write whatever it is to Mutual's Spotlight on 
America program in New York. 

GI's don't need to be told about Kilroy. No matter 
where our boys stormed beachheads, what obscure 
islands and hamlets they entered, anywhere in the 
world — Kilroy was always there first. His signature 
was found scrawled everywhere. No one ever saw 
Kilroy. No one ever caught up with him. Spotlight 
on America is anxious to find out who was the first 
Kilroy and where he is now. They'd like to know 
how the idea started and why. 
* * * 

We were talking to Allen Ducovny the other day 
and getting some new slants on the Superman show. 
Allen's a nice guy and he knows his stuff. 

"You know," he said, "how restless kids get in the 
movies whenever iove scenes are played on the screen. 
I think the word you hear rippling through the juvenile 
audiences at such times is a disgusted 'mush'. Well, 
that's why we don't ever have any love interest written 
into the Superman scripts." He pointed out that even 
the relationship between Lois Lane and Clark Kent 
(Superman) is purely platonic. 

Have you noticed that with the exception of Kate 
Smith, practically no big name singers any longer use 
theme songs? It's Perry Como's hunch that writers 
don't go too much for identifying themselves with any 
one song these days of rapid turnover in the popularity 
of popular music items. 

GOSSIP AND THINGS FROM EAST AND WEST . . . 
Jerome Robbins, choreographer who has staged and 
directed many ballets for Broadway musicals, adding 
a new field to his talents. He's working on a ballet 
series for Television. . . . More on Television: Base- 
ball fans who've been griped by Standing Room Only 
signs at the ball parks will rejoice to hear that more 
games will be televized next season. . . . Songstress 
Patti Clayton is slated for a personal appearance tour 
of the country this Spring. . . . The New Jersey 
Education Association has honored Jerry Devine's 
This Is Your FBI by choosing it for presentation at its 
annual convention as one of the best examples of 
radio in education. . . . Hector Chevigny, blind radio 
writer, has written an autobiography called "My Eyes 
Have A Cold Nose," which is getting up close to the 
best seller class. 



16 




OLAN SOULE 



na 



ONE of the most authentic actors in 
radio is Olan Soule. Any role he's 
called on to play, from truck driver to 
an author, is likely to be something he 
has done in real life. 

The truck driving began when Olan 
was with the Jack Brooks stock com- 
pany in Sabula, Iowa, for about two 
years. Then came three years with the 
Lane Shankland repertory company in 
East St. Louis. In 1931, when the de- 
pression folded up road shows, Olan 
headed for New York, bringing with 
him his new bride. Olan says in New 
York he ran elevators and served ham- 
burgers with the best actors in town. 

In 1933, he moved to Chicago and 
embarked on another phase of his 
career. He dusted off an old shorthand 
book, and, with his wife as tutor, man- 
aged to get a job as a secretary-switch- 
board operator-file clerk. 

But auditions required him to beg 
out of hjs job, often. So he lost it — at 
exactly the same time that he landed 
the part of Sam Ryder in the then new 
serial, Bachelor's Children. Olan has 
played that part for eleven years and 
is now one of the three remaining 
members of the original cast. 

With one foot in the door, the other 
foot slipped in easier. Parts on Orphan 
Annie, Grand Hotel, Freedom of Op- 
portunity and Theater of the Air fol- 
lowed rapidly. In 1943, he first began 
playing on the First Nighter shows and 
last year won the post of leading man. 

At home in Evanston, Illinois, he's a 
confirmed putterer. He has two chil- 
dren, JoAnn, six, and Jon, four, and the 
pride of their hearts is a nine room doll 
house he made for them one Christmas. 
Olan had just started making the doll 
house when he was drafted into the 
Army. Thinking it would be a long 
time before he'd get back, he sold all 
his power tools. Then the Army decided 
it didn't want Mr. Soule, so he returned 
home and set about finishing the house 
by hand. Some 600 working hours 
later it sat under the Chris-tmaa tree. 



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and chill. Serve 
sliced, with may- 
onnaise. Serves 8 
or more. 




CHICKEN SALAD PLATTER 

Cut Dole Pineapple Slices in halves 
and arrange around edge of a 
large plate in scallop design, as 
shown. Combine coarsely-cut left- 
over roast chicken or turkey, chop- 
ped hard-cooked egg. sliced celery, 
and strips of sweet pickle in de- 
sired proportions; dice 1 or more 
pineapple slices, and add: mix 
with French dressing, season well, 
and heap in center of 
pineapple -bordered 
plate. Serve mayon- 
naise or Thousand 
Island dressing sepa- 
rately. 

DOLE RECIPE: 46-13 







DOLE RECIPE; 46-1 5 




Frolic Eau de Cologne 

and Talc, $1.75. 




April Showers Dusting Powder 

and Eau de Cologne, $2.25 




2-STUMBLING BLOCKS 



This is the second in Radio Mirror's series of 
articles in which Mr. Anthony discusses some of the 
problems of modern marriage. 

LAST month I discussed emotional immaturity 
as one of the most frequent causes for di- 
vorce. I hope I made it plain that this imma- 
turity can manifest itself in many ways. I re- 
member that I mentioned infidelity, specifically, 
as one of the many ways in which the childish 
inability to grow beyond the first, rapturous 
stage of love and marriage shows itself. Unfaith- 
fulness, however, can be a symptom of other 
things besides emotional immaturity. 

Unfaithfulness is one of the chief causes for 
divorce. In some states, in fact, it is the only 
cause accepted by law. Now, it is my experience 
that people are never unfaithful simply for the 
sake of being unfaithful. There is usually an 
underlying cause, which, if recognized and 
treated in time, would eliminate the need for 
seeking love, attention, or pure physical grati- 
fication from someone besides the husband or 
wife. So, let us treat infidelity as the symptom 
of some maladjustment, some personal lack or 
inadequacy, rather than as a definite cause in 
itself. 

We've examined the way infidelity grows out 
of a constant pursuit of the stars-in-your-eyes 
romance, which is nothing but a refusal to accept 
the fact that love, like everything else, grows 
and matures and changes its forms. Now let us 
examine infidelity as it grows out of a very 
prevalent maladjustment — physical incompati- 
bility. 

In a society like ours, where there is so much 
apparent frankness about sex, where sexual 
stimulation is used in so many ways — in adver- 
tisements and stories and movies — it seems a 
paradox that really simple and elementary facts 
about sex are virtually a mystery to a large 
section of the population. It's paradoxical — and 



regrettable, because ignorance is dangerous 
Love is made up of many elements, not the 
least of which is the physical desire of one man 
for one woman and vice versa. This physical 
desire, though it is not the most important ele- 
ment in love, is healthy and normal and certainly 
important enough to either fuse the love into a 
fine marriage, or to destroy it, if the desire is 
frustrated or denied. Many a marriage in which 
all the other elements are present — tr.ust, under- 
standing, companionship, a sharing of responsi- 
bilities — has ended in divorce because of this 
something which has come to be labeled physical 
incompatibility. 

Scientifically, there are very few real, physical 
reasons for such incompatibility. There are cases 
which might be called physical incompatibility — 
like women with Rh-negative blood marrying 
men with Rh-positive blood and finding that they 
cannot have children by one another. But even 
in such cases, it does not follow that such a 
couple could not have an entirely happy and 
healthy physical relationship. The problem of 
children can be solved, either scientifically, by 
artificial insemination, or socially, by the adop- 
tion of children. 

Real physical incompatibility springs most of- 
ten not from basically physical causes, but from 
mental ones, from the (Continued on page 57) 



By JOHN J. 
ANTHONY 




19 




Mary was too excited to keep quiet. "That's the Hester Street trolley and the policeman's whistle!" The others 



20 




TODAY'S CHILDREN 



welcome the 



New Year in with the laughter of friends, 



and with prayers and hopes so deeply felt 



that they need be spoken only in the heart 



BECAUSE Hester Street had a special look, this 
afternoon before New Year's Eve, Naomi Daniels 
found herself thinking about it more warmly even 
than usual. She was idling through Simmons' drug- 
store with Carlotta Lagorra, helping to buy small 
extras for the night's festivity, but she kept looking 
through the warm, steamy windows and at the people 
rushing in for last-minute purchases, and wondering 
if she could make any of her thoughts clear to Car- 
lotta, if she tried. 

It's funny, she was thinking; when you're walking 
down a strange street you see only that it is bright or 
sad, cared-for or neglected — you're outside it. But 
when you live on a street — no matter what street, in 
what city — your view is so different! Then the street 
has a life of its own, and the people who live there 
are drawn into that life — or they're not. Naomi sighed. 
It was very often because people were not drawn into 
that life that she, as a social worker, found complicated 
problems waiting for solution. 

Some streets are cold and unfriendly by nature — 
maybe, Naomi thought whimsically, it's the way they're 
built, cold and stiff and straight. The stream of neigh- 
borliness there runs very shallow. If there is an acci- 
dent, or a great celebration, a street like that may 
become momentarily close-knit; neighbors who have 
never exchanged so much as (Continued on page 58) 



On the opposite page, Keith (played by Wilms 
Herbert) is at the piano; Mary (Lois Kennison) 
beside him. Ruth Hewlett is at the left, next to 
Tony (Edwin Rand); Carlotta (Gale Page) ; David 
(Jack Edwards, Jr.) ; Marilyn (Betty Lou Gerson) ; 
Italo (Milt Herman) ; Naomi (Jo Gilbert). Today's 
Children is heard 'daily on NBC, at 2:15 PM. EST. 
This story was written especially for Radio Mirror. 



too recognized these sounds in Keith's music 



20 




TODAY'S CHILDREN 



welcome the 



New Year in with the langhter of friends, 
and with prayers and hopes so deeply felt 
that they need be spoken only in the heart 



BECAUSE Hester Street had a special look, this 
afternoon before New Year's Eve, Naomi Daniels 
found herself thinking about it more warmly even 
than usual. She was idling through Simmons' drug- 1 - 
store with Carlotta Lagorra, helping to buy small 
extras for the night's festivity, but she kept looking 
through the warm, steamy windows and at the people 
rushing in for last-minute purchases, and wondering 
if she could make any of her thoughts clear to Car- 
lotta, if she tried. 

It's funny, she was thinking; when you're walking 
down a strange street you see only that it is bright or 
sad, cared-for or neglected — you're outside it. But 
when you live on a street — no matter what street, in 
what city — your view is so different! Then the street 
has a life of its own, and the people who live there 
are drawn into that life — or they're not. Naomi sighed. 
It was very often because people were not drawn into 
that life that she, as a social worker, found complicated 
problems waiting for solution. 

Some streets are cold and unfriendly by nature — 
maybe, Naomi thought whimsically, it's the way they're 
built, cold and stiff and straight. The stream of neigh- 
borliness there runs very shallow. If there is an acci- 
dent, or a great celebration, a street like that may 
become momentarily close-knit; neighbors who have 
never exchanged so much as (Continued on page 58) 



On Ihe opposite page, Keith (played by Wilms 
Herbert) is at the piano; Mary (Lois Kenniion) 
beside him. Ruth Hewlett is at the left, next to 
Tony (Edwin Rand); Carlotta (Gale Page) ; David 
(Jack Edwards, Jr.) ; Marilyn (Betty Lou Gerson); 
Italo (Milt Herman) ; Naomi (Jo Gilbert ). Today's 
Children is heard "daily on NBC, at 2:15 P.M. EST. 
This story was written especially for Radio Mirror. 



Mary was too excited to keep quiet "That'* th. w. . c 

P quiet. lhats the Hester Street trolley and the policeman's whistle 



too recognized these sounds in Keith's music. 



21 




Bert Parks is Quiz Master 
of ABC's Break The Bank, heard 
Fridays at 9:00 P.M. EST. 



e Broke 



Being on Break the Bank 



was fun. But when the Weisses 



broke it, it wasn't just 



fun— it was high adventure! 



HAVE you ever won $5000 in less 
than ten minutes? $5220, to be 
exact? That happens about as 
often as the Dionne Quintuplets, I 
guess — maybe even less frequently. 
So don't blame me too much if I'm 
still a little dazed at what happened 
to me one night on the Break the 
Bank radio program. $5000 is a lot 
of money. Oh, maybe it's nothing 
exciting to the people you read about 
in the papers around the first of 
every year — the people who figure 
their incomes in six or maybe seven 
figures. But for the rest of us — most 
of us — it's an incredible sum, all in 
one lump. It usually represents a 
year, or maybe two years, of work 
— eight hours a day, five or six days 
a week, month after month. 

Of course, I wasn't thinking about 
any of those things that night as 
Edith and I were driving to the Ritz 
Theater in New York, where the 
broadcast was being held. We were 
just feeling good because we'd been 
able to get tickets. Edith's mother 
had had four of them, and two peo- 
ple she'd invited to see the show 
with her hadn't been able to make 
it at the last (Continued on page 65) 



the Bank ! 




Quiz-program history was made at this moment, as well as family history for Commander Jack Weiss, U.S.N .R., and his 

just-acquired wife Edith. Navy experience, a knowledge of geography, a steel-trap memory helped them Break the Bank for a figure 

that left them limp, and left Quiz Master Bert Parks, M.C. Bud Collyer and the radio audience (seen and unseen) gasping. 



23 




LORA LAWTON 



The story of a courageous woman who hag learned to meet life's constant challenge 




PETER CARVER, successful and attractive, was one of Washington's most sought-after young men until he 
fell in love with Lora Lawton. The obstacles that stood in the way of their marriage made Lora doubly 
precious to Peter; but now, with their happiness realized, he is in danger of forgetting that his riches make that 
happiness vulnerable — they are a hazard to the ideals and aspirations that strengthened his and Lora's love. 

( Peter Carver is played by Ned Wever ) 



24 




LORA LAWTON'S life has been at times a lonely one, at others made stimulating by success achieved through her own 
resourcefulness and courage. Divorced by her first iiusband, Juora's unhappiness spurred lier on to a brilliant career in 
photography. Too vital a woman to be content with solitude, however, Lora is now the envied wife of successful ship-builder 
Peter Carver; and she is learning that life sometimes offers problems that even money and affection combined cannot solve. 

( Lora Lawton is played by Jan Miner ) 



25 




GAIL, Peter's spoiled and 
pampered young sister, mar- 
ried young ANGUS MAC- 
DONALD without fully real- 
izing that in place of the 
luxury with which Peter had 
surrounded her, she would 
have to adjust to living — at 
least • until Angus makes his 
mark — as the wife of a strug- 
gling young man with a mod- 
est income. Angus, to whom 
Gail means everything, is try- 
ing to teach her that even 
without money two people 
can build happiness for each 
other, hut Gail continues to 
resent Peter's decision that 
she must live on her hus- 
band's salary. Her resentment 
has turned into a jealous 
hatred of her sister-in-law. 
(Gail is Marilyn Erskine; 
Angus is William Hare) 



MAY CASE is friend, confidante 
— and efficient secretary — to Peter 
Carver. Her sympathetic, alert 
mind has been puzzling over hu- 
man vagaries for many years, and 
she has often been able to give 
Peter just the bit of advice or com- 
fort that he needed. Convinced that 
her beloved employer can truly 
find his happiness with Lora, May 
has shown that she is ready to be 
as honest and understanding a 
friend to Peter's wife as she has 
so long been to Peter himself, 
(played by Ethel "Wilson) 



26 





CLYDE HOUSTON, feature editor 
of the magazine for •which Lora 
still works on special assignments, 
was the first person to recognize 
her talent. Lora values highly the 
friendship of this man, who was 
instrumental in furthering her 
career; and, because of a recent 
crisis in his own life, Clyde has 
cause to be grateful to Lora. If it 
had not been for her help, he 
might have gone on lonely, unable 
to marry the woman he loved. 
He owes Lora much happiness, 
(played by James Van Dyk) 



IRIS HOUSTON, Clyde's lovely 
wife, will never forget Lora's part 
in making her marriage possible. 
There was a time when Lora's un- 
affected charm irritated Iris, a 
Washington social leader; but now 
that they understand each other 
better they have become very dear 
friends. In fact, Lora has directly 
and indirectly influenced the whole 
personality of Clyde's wife so that 
Iris's pattern of living has under- 
gone a change — and she is happier 
and more useful than ever before, 
(played by Elaine Kent) 



Lora Lawton is conceived and pro- 
duced by Frank and Anne Hummert, 
heard Monday through Friday, 
at 10:15 A.M. EST, over NBC. 











>+ - 



SOON it will be Christmas again, 
the beautiful time. I call it beau- 
tiful not only because of the sur- 
face things, the symbols — the ever- 
green trees festooned with colored 
lights, the giving of presents, or even 
the wonder and delight Christmas 
brings into the eyes of children — 
though all these are as precious to 
me as they are to anyone else. No, 
I believe Christmas is beautiful be- 
cause above all else it is a time of 
remembrance, and all its memories 
are happy ones, from the great uni- 
versal memory of the Christ Child's 
birth to the millions of individual 
memories which are the personal 
property of each one of us. 

That may not sound like a very 
important matter. What is a mem- 
ory, you may say, even a happy 
memory, but something that is past 
and gone, never to be recaptured? 
But memories are more than that, 
much more; they are guideposts for 
the present and the future; and they 
can be recaptured. Let me tell you 
about Jim Kenyon, who recaptured 
his, and then I think you will know 
what I mean. 

He was an ordinary-looking young 
man, this Jim Kenyon, not too well 
dressed, and with a diffident, un- 



happy look in his brown eyes. But 
he had a good, firm jaw, perhaps a 
little too firm so that it denoted a 
certain stubbornness, and I liked 
him on sight when he came to see 
me on the morning of December 
24th, a year ago. He felt a bit fool- 
ish about visiting me, you could see. 
We'd never met, and already he was 
doubtful about the impulse that had 
brought him. All the same, there he 
was, and he was going through with 
it now that he'd started. 

"I need somebody to tell me what 
to do," he said, "and I don't know 
anybody in Chicago. I've only been 
here a few months. So I thought 
maybe you wouldn't mind if I came 
to you." 

I told him that of course I didn't 
mind, and he took a deep breath and 
began to tell me about himself, and 
about Marcie. His wasn't a unique 
story. I only wish it were. I wish 
with all my heart that there could be 
only one Jim, one Marcie, in this 
land of ours. 

Without ever having seen Marcie, 
I feel that I know her well, from 
the way he described her to me. 
Very young — she was barely nine- 
teen in 1940, when she and Jim were 
married — and small, and as pert and 






i 



On a Hymns Of All Churches program, 
Jim suddenly heard the one thing 
that had power enough to 
turn the bitterness in his heart to hope 




/v 




tmmie 



gay as the blue ribbon she some- 
times tied around her black hair. 
High-spirited, tantalizing one mo- 
ment and tender the next, apt to be 
embarrassed by any show of senti- 
ment because it was "icky" — that 
was Marcie. 

Theirs was a boy-and-girl ro- 
mance in the small town, fifty miles 
from Chicago, where they had both 
been born. Together they'd gone to 
dances in the high school gymna- 
sium, double-dating with another 
couple in Jim's cut- down Ford, and 
on Saturday afternoons in the Fall 
Marcie would sit in the bleachers 
cheering her head off for Jim to 
make the winning touchdown for 
the home team. Once he actually 
did, and she was shyly proud of 
him, though she did her very best to 
keep him from knowing it. 

They had their quarrels and mis- 
understandings, like any pair of 
healthy adolescents, and there was 
one terrible weekend when, to pun- 
ish Jim, Marcie went out twice in 
succession with a boy named Bert 
Hazzard. She confessed afterward, 
when she and Jim had made up 
again, that she'd been miserable the 
whole time. In fact, that was the 
night she (Continued on page 77) 




• iM| i)t rreston Imulleij 

As told to RADIO MIRROR 

The Pastor of the People's Church of Chicago is heard on Hymns 
Of All Churches, Monday through Friday at 10:25 A.M. EST, on 
ABC. His Christmas story was written especially for Radio Mirror. 



29 



&WSi 









&5fe 



v r 




'^fc' 




Five oak trees, a blueprint, and a dream — that's where the Montgomerys live 



THIS is a triangle love story, with no scandalous 
overtones. 
The principals are a boy and his sweetheart 
and a piece of land. 

The boy is George Montgomery, his sweetheart is 
Mrs. M. — -you know her as Dinah Shore — and the 
piece of land is six and one-half acres of the flat 
and fertile San Fernando valley, halfway between 
the purple San Gabriel mountains and the green 
Hollywood hills, land as young as green alfalfa and 
as old as the five thousand-year-old wild oak trees 
which give it its character and its name. 

"Five Oaks" the Montgomerys recognized as home 
the minute they saw it. They are rapidly turning 
it into the reality of home, and the story is one of 
the most heartwarming in a long time to come out 
of a community which breeds more cynicism — par- 
ticularly about marriage — than romance. 



George and Dinah found their land by accident, in 
June, 1945. 

It happened on a Sunday afternoon. They had 
driven out to the valley for Sunday brunch with 
friends, and were heading homeward. It was a 
beautiful, sunny day — too beautiful to go home. 
They decided to go for a drive. 

"I know what we can do, George," Dinah said. 
"We've always wanted to own a couple of acres in 
the valley. We'll go by a real estate office and pick 
up some addresses — it'll be a good excuse for spend- 
ing the day out of doors." (The Montgomerys are 
ranchers at heart; they own a 10,000-acre ranch in 
Montana.) 

They stopped at the first real estate office on the 
highway, explained their purpose. 

A couple of acres was all they wanted, they said — 
not to build on now, of course, with everything so 



30 




They couldn't wait to move in — so they lived in one room. 

The Early American love seat is proof of Dinah's proud 

contention that "George can do anything." He built it. 





The master bedroom will 
be George's tour de force. He's 
arranging for two of 
everything — except the fireplace. 



Dinah Shore is heard on 
CBS, Wednesday nights at 9:30 EST. 





They couldn't wail to move in— so they lived in one room. 

The Early American love seat is proof of Dinah's proud 

contention that "George can do anything." He built it. 




Q_^mtes tft^o ^Zuo 




Five oak trees, a blueprint, and a dream — that's where the Montgomerys live 



THIS is a triangle love story, with no scandalous 
overtones. 
The principals are a boy and his sweetheart 
and a piece of land. 

The boy is George Montgomery, his sweetheart is 
Mrs. M. — you know her as Dinah Shore — and the 
piece of land is six and one-half acres of the flat 
and fertile San Fernando valley, halfway between 
the purple San Gabriel mountains and the green 
Hollywood hills, land as young as green alfalfa and 
as old as the five thousand-year-old wild oak trees 
which give it its character and its name. 

"Five Oaks" the Montgomerys recognized as home 
the minute they saw it. They are rapidly turning 
it into the reality of home, and the story is one of 
the most heartwarming in a long time to come out 
of a community which breeds more cynicism par- 
ticularly about marriage — than romance. 



George and Dinah found their land by accident, in 
June, 1945. 

It happened on a Sunday afternoon. They had 
driven out to the valley for Sunday brunch with 
friends, and were heading homeward. It was a 
beautiful, sunny day — too beautiful to go home. 
They decided to go for a drive. 

"I know what we can do, George," Dinah said. 
"We've always wanted to own a couple of acres in 
the valley. We'll go by a real estate office and pi<* 
up some addresses — it'll be a good excuse for spend- 
ing the day out 'of doors." (The Montgomerys are 
ranchers at heart; they own a 10,000-acre ranch in 
Montana.) 

They stopped at the first real estate office on the 
highway, explained their purpose. 

A couple of acres was all they wanted, they said^ 
not to build on now, of course, with everything s 



30 




The master bedroom will 
be George's tonr de force. He's 
arranging for two of 
everything — except the fireplace. 



Dinah Shore is heard on 
<'.BS, Wednesday nigh taat 9:30 EST. 




Come and Visit DINAH SHORE (Mrs. George Montgomery) 



difficult. But a place to grow some alfalfa maybe, 
to keep some horses if they decided to bring some 
of the horses down from Montana. Just . . . just 
a piece of this beautiful valley, a piece of the good 
earth with a view. 

The real estate agent, who was a woman and 
very pleasant, thought she understood. She hadn't 
anything that exactly fitted the requirements at 
the moment, but there was one place she wished 
they'd look at. It was a little more land — six and 
one-half acres — and it had a little house on it. 
Just one room, really, and a bunk room. But it 
was a beautiful spot. She told them about the five 
old, old trees. 

"We don't need a house," George said, remind- 
ing Dinah that they hadn't finished furnishing their 
new house in Benedict Canyon. 

"But it's a pretty day, George," Dinah said, "and 
we really haven't anything else to do." 

So the three of them drove by the place. And 
Dinah fell in love, at first sight — as, (if her ro- 
mance with George Montgomery can be taken as 
an indication) is her custom. At first sight, and 
irrevocably. 

It was not just the trees, although they are mag- 
nificent. It was the green (Continued on page 69) 



Things "just growed" — with a little help from George's toolchest. 




This is the way they iron their clothes , • <■ 



32 






,-H. r. 



X&l 



Big and baby Bantams are Dinah's 







"Gotta have a place to sleep!" — so the seven-by-seven bed came into their all-in-one room. 




£& 






articular pets. She's up at six to feed them. 




*Gotta have a place for tools!" — so the workshop went up fast. 



33 



Come and Visit DI 



NAB SHORE (Mrs. George Montgomery) 



j-«v„H Rut a Dlace to grow some alfalfa maybe, 
Step sle hots if tlfey decided to bring some 
S the horses down from Montana. Just . W» 
a piece of this beautiful valley, a piece of the good 
oarth with a view. j 

xt real estate agent, who was a woman and 
very pleasant, thought she understood. She hadn 
anything that exactly fitted the requirements at 
*e moment, but there was one place she wished 
Sey'd look at. It was a Utile more land-six and 
one-half acres-and it had a little house on it 
Just one room, really, and a bunk room i. But it 
was a beautiful spot. She told them about the five 
old, old trees. . , 

"We don't need a house," George said, remind- 
ing Dinah that they hadn't finished furnishing their 
new house in Benedict Canyon. 

"But it's a pretty day, George," Dinah said, and 
we really haven't anything else to do." 

So the three of them drove by the place. And 
Dinah fell in love, at first sight— as, (if her ro- 
mance with George Montgomery can be taken as 
an indication) is her custom. At first sight, and 
irrevocably. 

It was not just the trees, although they are mag- 
nificent. It was the green {Continued on page 69) 



Things "jubI growed"— with a little help from George's toolchest 



32 




"Gotta have a place for took!" — so the workshop went up fast. 



33 






cytwte sww /w&nJ wa 



f 'M 



W~- 



LINES AFTER A LONG YEAR 
Radio Mirror's Poem of the Month 

We are walking out again 

As we used to do, 
When hours were silver footed 

And every star was blue, 
We weep our tears in secret. 

Our grief has all been said, 
And all we ever feared of Death 

Is done with and is dead. 
And so we walk out once again 

Finding, free and slim, 
Always the faint, familiar. 

Counterpart of him, 
Sungold on a tennis court. 

Swinging at a ball, 
Buying tickets for the game, 

A shadow in a hall. 
Climbing in a cock-pit 

Whistling down a street, 
Dancing in a corner. 

Always the strange and fleet 
Familiar look of eye or hand, 

The half-glimpse of a shoulder, 
The way we think that he might look 

A long, war year older. 
Light steps precede us as we go. 

Light steps follow after. 
We are walking out again, 

Listening for his laughter. 

— Gladys McKee 



REQUIEM 

Under the wide and starry sky 
Dig the grave and let me lie. 
Glad did I live and gladly die, 
And I laid me down with a will. 

This be the verse that you grave for me: 
Here he lies where he longed to be, 
Home is the sailor, home from the sea, 
And the hunter home from the hill. 

— Robert Louis Stevenson 



MACBETH LEARNS OF HIS WIFE'S DEATH 

Tomorrow, ond tomorrow, and tomorrow. 
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day 
To the last syllable of recorded time, 
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools 
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle! 
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player 
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage 
And then is heard no more; it is a tale 
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury. 
Signifying nothing. 

— William Shakespeare 



THE FACE 

As a beauty I'm not a great star, 
There are others more handsome by 

far, 
But my face I don't mind it, 
Because I'm behind it — 
'Tis the folks in the front that I jar. 
— Anthony Euwer 

(Woodrow Wilson's favorite limerick) 



THERE WILL BE COMMON THINGS 

There will be common things to lift the heart 
Long as the earth shall turn, and hearts need lifting: 
There will be wild geese calling at the start 
Of every Spring, and blue-gold hazes drifting 
Through every Autumn; there will be the fragile 
Exquisite snowflake caught upon the sleeve, 
Birdsong cascading, trees, and sight of agile 
Chipmunk at play. And these will interweave 
With other common things so joyously, — 
Good friends' hellos, and letters, laughter, quiet 
And order, work accomplished, and to be 
Done soon, and faith, and courage standing by it — 
That we may question whether we should call 
Them common in their dearness, after all! 

— Elaine V. Emans 



EVENING AT HOME 

When we have lived a lifetime, you and I, 
And time no longer harries us with fears 
Of Not-enough or All-too-soon; when eyes 
No longer fill with visions or with tears 
To answer youthful dreaming; when the breath 
Of all finality confirms the. gains 
We've made— I will reveal what early deaths 
You led me past, down what courageous lanes 
You drew my heart. Because of you I sing 
Instead of speaking, dream instead of sleep. 
Through every day my thoughts of beauty ring 
With overtones of you. Tonight I keep 
My silence and consider Love— and smile 
To see it add new meaning all the while. 

—Harold Applebaum 



34 



tlieBOQKENDS 



Jfim /w/.mi&, M¥Mfmm/& / i/M r 



YOU ASK FOR IT 

You can't expect your -dear to bring 
The moon tied firmly on a string 
And hand it to you, silver-lit. 
But when you love you ask for it. 
It's foolish to believe your sweet 
Can fashion paradise complete 
And run it for your benefit, 
But when you love you ask for it. 
Divine unreason! you reflect, 
And certainly you don't expect 
To have your heart reduced to grit, 
But when you love you ask for it! 
— Georgie Starbuck Galbraith 



HAIR APPARENT 

A woman is classed, with meticulous care, 

By nothing so much as the shade of her hair. 

There's the platinum blonde, and the strawberry too, 

The redhead, with titian or copperish hue, 

The light brown, the dark brown, and also the 

medium, * 

As well as the black— to list more would cause 

tedium. 
A man though, re hair, is just jetsam and flotsam, 
He comes in two classes: he has or has not some. 
—Richard Armour 



BEFORE SLEEPING 

Matthew, Mark, Luke and John 
• Bless the bed that I lie on! 
Four corners to my bed, 

Four angels round my head, 
One at head and one at feet, 

And two to guard my soul asleep. 

— Anonymous 



FROM DON JUAN 
Man's love is of man's life a thing apart, 
"Tis woman's whole existence; man may range 
The court, camp, church, the vessel, and the 

mart, 
Sword, gown, gain, glory, offer in exchange 
Pride, fame, ambition, to fill up his heart, 
And few there are whom these can not estrange: 
Men have all these resources, we but one, 
To love again, and be again undone. 

— Lord Byron 




By TED MALONE 

Be sure to listen to Ted 
Malone's morning program, 
Monday, Wednesday, Friday 
at 11:45 EST, over ABC. 



ANNIVERSARY 

Consider, dear, this oneness bom of years 

And small things shared, like breakfasting at eight 
Or reading late; 
The little quarrels and the quick-dried tears, 
Walks in our hills 
At dusk, and meeting bills 
By skipping steaks and shows. 
And heaven only knows 
How many things! 
But not the sunsets, dawns and flickers' wings 
Tawny against the dark pine. 

Oh, more, much more than these were yours and 

mine; 
The spotted sparrow's song 
With winter rain, vacation trips 
Along the coast to fish, grey hulks of ships 
Returned or leaving with their long. 
Gull-flowering, silver-flashing sun. 
Dear, we have done 

And seen* and known so much together — 
Enough to keep us strong in any weather. 

— Bess Toles 



RADIO MIRROR will pay 

FIFTY DOLLARS each month 



for the original poem, sent in by a. reader, selected by 
Ted Malone as the best of that month's poems submitted 
by readers. Five dollars will be paid for each other 
original poem submitted and printed on the Between 
the Bookends page in Radio Mirror. Address your poetry 
to Ted Malone, Radio Mirror, 205 East 42nd Street, 
New York 17, N. Y. Poetry submitted should be lim- 
ited to thirty lines. When postage is enclosed every 
effort will be made to return unused manuscripts. This 
is not a contest, but an offer to purchase poetry for Radio 
Mirror's Between the Bookends feature. 



- 



35 






mm 




J J 



* o 



After ten years, the Smiths 



\» 



feel that their story is just 



beginning. That's what 



makes it a love story 



o 



t.T was our fifteenth birthday, the 
day we met. . . . 

Five years later, on our twen- 
tieth birthday, we were married. 

That (on the 16th of last Novem- 
ber) was ten years ago. . . . 

If we had not had the same birth- 
day (I am fifty-five minutes older 
than Victoria. An "older man," she 
calls me) we might never have met. 
True, we both grew up in Holly- 
wood, but I was going to Hollywood 
High School and Vickii to Glendale 
High, which might have been a 
world away and a world apart. True, 
I belonged to the Santa Monica 
Beach Club and Vickii belonged to 




By JACK SMITH 



The Jack Smith Show is heard Monday through Friday, 7:15 P.M. EST, CBS. 



the Santa Monica Swirnming Club 
and the clubs adjoin, but you can 
miss even your destiny in a crowd. 
True, our families — as we learned 
later — had mutual friends. In fact, my 
mother's brother-in-law's brother 
married into Vickii's family so, tak- 
ing it all in all, it seems reasonable 
to suppose that we could not have 
escaped fate. Just the same, except 
for "our" birthday, we might have, 
and so have missed a happiness that, 
speaking for myself, is the meaning 
of life. 

We entered marriage on a very 
peculiar basis, Vickii and I. Both 
children of divorced parents, and 
brought up in Hollywood where, if 
there are not more divorces than 
otherwheres, they are more publi- 
cized, we never thought our mar- 
riage would last. Vickii was con- 
vinced it wouldn't and I, although I 
was less skeptical and tried to dis- 
suade her from the downbeat 
thought, was afraid it wouldn't. De- 
fensive, both of us, we said to our 
friends, "We'll probably never last 
longer than a year." "Don't talk like 
that," our friends warned us, "or you 
won't have a chance." Well, most 
of those friends are now divorced 
and we are still, and happily, and 
more happily as each day, week, 
month, year goes by, married. 

Last summer, we took our first 
honeymoon. Our first real honey- 
moon, for when we were married, I 
could get only three days off the air, 
which we spent in a state of trance 
at the Pickwick Arms in Greenwich, 
Connecticut. Since then, when we 
have had the time to go away, we 
haven't had the money; when we've 
had the money, we haven't had the 
time. But last summer, in the tenth 
year of our marriage, we honey- 
mooned ... in South America, in 
Buenos Aires, in Rio," in Trinidad, 
in Guatemala, in Mexico. It was as 
beautiful, as (Continued on page 54) 



36 



v^ 





Ny 










The makings o 



rk. Buff and 



one of the Vicki-made specialties tliat cured Jack of his bachelor addiction to pi 



1. "She loves me ... or not," sighs Kenny Baker to boarder Don Wilson; Barbara's pretty nose is in the 
air over the run-down state of Glamour Manor. No other guest has ever made a return visit — they've 
just got to make sure Mrs. Biddle will enjoy herself and come again. Why doesn't Kenny Do Something? 





GLAMOUR 




WHEN singer-comedian Kenny Baker took over manager- 
ship of ABC's two-year-old Glamour Manor, he found it 
in the doldrums. Sometimes it seems to pretty Barbara 
Dilley, the hotel's bookkeeper, that nothing will ever get it 
into shape . . . especially not Kenny. Life is further compli- 
cated by the Manor's star boarder Don Wilson, whose advice 
always leads to trouble of which Kenny is on the receiving 
end. And by Schlepperman, also eager to help — and also 
talented only in helping Kenny dig his own pitfalls. (Mon- 
days, Wednesdays and Fridays the hotel has its troubles. 
Tuesdays and Thursdays the audience participates in inter- 
views m.c.'d by Kenny Baker. Barbara is played by Barbara 
Eiler; Schlepperman by Sam Hearn; Mrs. Biddle by Elviah 
Allman. Listen in at 12 Noon, EST, ABC.) 

And now,. the crisis (written especially for Radio Mirror). 
Wealthy, man-mad Mrs. Biddle is on her fiuttery way to 
Glamour Manor. If she likes it, she may tell her friends. If 
her friends come, the hotel is made ... if they like it. 



It's a big day at Glamour - 
Manor. One more like it, and Kenny 
Baker's hostelry will be 
rocked to its very foundations! 



38 




2. Don Wilson's suggestions have a way of 
bouncing back, but this time he seems to 
have something. What they need, he says, 
is an intelligent, handsome, courteous 
bellboy to impress socialite Mrs. Biddle. 




3. Schlepperman has overheard. He offers himself. 
Kenny and Don are skeptical, but "Haven't I had 
all my life a ringing in the ears?" Schleppie 
insists. "And I always let ladies go first, espe- 
cially when paying a check." Kenny finally agrees. 




4. This is it! Mrs. Biddle arrives. Like the intelligent, handsome, 
courteous bellboy he is, Schleppie lets her go first, carrying her" 
heavy bag, while he daintily brings up the rear with her jewel-case. 



39 




GLAMOUR MANOR 

(Continued) 



5. Tensely, Mrs. Biddle's reactions are awaited. 
Then she phones the desk, and all relax. She 
loves everything, including the bellboy's virile, 
dashing personality! Barbara forgives Kenny, 
and they're so busy with each other that there's 
nobody but Don to tell Schleppie what to do with 
Mrs. B's jewels. "Put the ice in the safe," Don 
advises slangily, "and keep it under your hat!" 





6. Bewildered but compliant, Schleppie does. And 
the next morning Kenny finds that disaster is upon 
them. Safe cracked . . . jewel-case gone! Mrs. 
Biddle will be furious. She will leave Glamour Manor, 
sue the hotel — put them all in jail! Bankruptcy, 
chaos and ruin face the utterly horrified Kenny. 



40 



7. Don comforts the hysterical Mrs. Biddle, as 
Barbara looks on fearfully. It's not only the 
jewels Mrs. Biddle is bemoaning. Here she had 
placed such trust in Kenny, and thought Schlep- 
pie was so cute . . . and now they've permitted 
her to be robbed! All her faith in men is gone. 







8. In the midst of all this turmoil, Kenny is still 
standing by the safe. Now, suddenly, he is aston- 
ished to find that his feet are getting very wet. 
In fact, he's right in a puddle of water. But where 
can it be coming from? Schleppie shrugs. What's 
so strange about that? He knew all along that the 
ice Don told him to put in the safe would melt! 




9. Ice in the safe! But then — where are the 
jewels? Schlepp beams. "Under my hat," he 
confides, "where I kept them all night, just as 
Don told me to. And believe me, for the bumps 
I got on my head now, I should get liniment 
treatments, for free!" And he produces them. 



10. All is happiness again. Mrs. 
Biddle has her jewels and her faith 
in men restored . . . and her cute, 
precious Schleppie is the man of the 
hour. Barbara is all ready to adore 
Kenny again— he's the smartest man 
in the world for not putting those 
jewels in the safe where robbers 
could get at them! Glamour Manor 
is back on its feet . . . but watch 
out! There's always a next time! 




Eve married Ned Bergen in Reno, now is hoping a trial separation! will keep her 



iagc from ending where il began. 



\ 



) 






14 



rmm 



*B 



•tx 



ilk* TwEA^M 




^^ 




EVE ARDEN is unlike her namesake Eve in one 
respect — she never longs to stay in any one 
Garden of Eden. She's spent her life racing 
from one place to another with a cloud of dust 
forming in her wake . . . and to her endless wan- 
derlust she owes everything she has. This includes 
her NBC radio show, Village Store, in which she 
and Jack Haley spar; her dozens of movies includ- 
ing Stage Door, Cover Girl, My Reputation, Dough- 
girls, Pan Americana, and Mildred Pierce; her 
many New York stage productions — and even her 
husband, child, and home in Hollywood. 

Right now, she's fairly static. You can find her 
tall, angular figure and her blue-eyed, yellow-haired 
head planted steadfastly behind an NBC microphone 
in Hollywood. And on a Hollywood hilltop you 
can see her early American house, perfect in all 
its details, complete with two-year-old adopted 
daughter Liza, nurse Margaret, housekeeper Jeanie, 



and gardener Joe. But things were not always so 
static — and they probably won't stay that way. Not 
with Eve around to keep things moving. 

She always reacts the same way to any^setback : 
a voice within her says, "Get going!" and she goes. 
It was the same way in romance as in everything 
else in her life. Some eight years back, while she 
was temporarily in Hollywood, a fellow actress 
introduced her to a young insurance man named 
Ned Bergen. It was quarrel at first sight. They 
went out steadily for several weeks thereafter and 
argued just as steadily as they dated. Finally they 
had a particularly ferocious evening. They both 
despised each other at the top of their lungs, and 
Eve flung out of his car at the end of the date, 
shouted that she never wanted to see him again, 
and slammed into her house. The next morning she 
awoke still boiling with rage and thought, "Get 
going!" It was instinctive. (Continued on page 74) 



42 






(ove S$rden — 



«/ 



a c€ubt=fo=waAt ayjianwwrU 




On the air every Thursday night at 9:30 on NBC — Eve Arden with Jack Haley, 
and guests (here, Victor Mature) invited for a half hour at the Village Store. 




Eve's house is full of beautifully-chosen antiques; her 
talented interiors are used as home-magazine models. 



"No child of mine will be an actress!" 
Eve's father said, ignoring destiny. 






S$ touli&vA- /ettw— 



EVERY now and then we get a letter 
which reveals an experience so in- 
tense that its meaning and its message 
shine forth with perfect clarity. For such 
a letter no comment is necessary. No 
interpreter is needed, for the hopes and 
fears it touches on are so elemental that 
responsive understanding leaps up at 
once in the heart of the reader. And 
such a letter is our first. The writer has 
received Radio Mirror's check for one 
hundred dollars. 



Jrfaswe meiu/a^e. 



Life Can Be Beautiful, written by Carl 
Bixby and Don Becker, is heard daily 
at 12 PT, 1 MT, 2 CT, 3 ET, on NBC. 



Dear Papa David: 

That life can be beautiful is a known 
fact to me. My first dark spot in life 
came, as to many others, with the draft. 
But still I had the future to look forward 
to. 

After finishing Infantry Basic Training 
I was sent overseas. I saw only a small 
bit of action and then I was moved into 
Japan. After spending about a month 
there, I was pulling guard duty there the 
night of November 22, 1945— a date I 
shall never forget for it was then that it 
happened. The ammo dump which I was 
guarding blew up, catching myself and 
149 others in it. I was badly burned. My 
face was a mess; also my legs and hands. 

I was able to make it to an aid station 
and there I passed out. When I came to 
myself some two weeks later I was com- 
pletely blind and I was told I would 
never walk again and that they were 
going to amputate both my hands. There 
is where I failed to see the beautiful side 
of life. 

I refused the operation on my hands 
and was soon returned to the States; 
here I recovered my sight in a short 
while. Then I was told that my hands 
were improving very nicely. 

In a short while I was up in a wheel 
chair, feeling much better. And now, 



CAN BE BEAUTIFUI 



ft 



to 



m wad not aeim trie eweb aum&, SmI adm me fwawt 



thanks to the science of plastic surgery, 
I am walking and writing this letter with 
the two hands that were supposed to be 
amputated. They have worked wonders 
with my face." I have now had my ear 
restored and my hair is growing in fine. 
Of course it has been rough but now 
I will be a civilian in a few short months. 
So you can easily see why I think life 
can be and is very beautiful. 

J. T. W. 

Radio Mirror's fifteen-dollar checks 
have gone to the writers of the following 
letters. 



([Men Jrteute 



Dear Papa David, 
My husband and I were very lonely 



Radio Mirror Offers 
One Hundred Dollars 
each month for your 



Have you sent in your Life Can Be Beautiful 
letter yet? If, some time in your life, there 
was a moment when the meaning of happiness 
became clear to you, won't you write your 
story to Papa David? For the letter he con- 
siders best each month, Radio Mirror will 
pay one hundred dollars. For each of the other 
letters received which we have space enough 
to print, Radio Mirror Magazine will pay 
fifteen dollars. Address your letters to Papa 
David, care of Radio Mirror Magazine, 205 
East 42, New York 17, New York. No letters 
can be returned. 



after losing our only son a year ago. 
Sometimes it seemed we could never go 
on without him. I am afraid we became 
obsessed with self pity, until one day I 
realized that the solution of our loneli- 
ness was right before our very eyes, if 
we were unselfish enough to take ad- 
vantage of it. 

You see, Papa David, there were sev- 
eral children in our neighborhood whose 
mothers worked, and these children were 
lonely too. So why not turn our home 
into a meeting place for them? No sooner 
said than done, I had everything ar- 
ranged, and two days later I was baking 
cookies, happy in the thought of having 
youngsters in the house again. 

Not all of them came that first eve- 
ning, and those who did were rather shy 
and afraid to really be themselves. I sug- 
gested games, played the piano, asked 
them to sing and before long they were 
having a grand time. For the first time 
in months, I heard my husband's hearty 
laugh ring out. 

Now, we have open house for the chil- 
dren three times a week and all of us 
eagerly await those few hours of en- 
joyment. 

Needless to say, my husband and I 
still have an empty ache in our hearts 
for that boy who can never return, but 
we have found that life can be beauti- 
ful, if we will remember to think more 
of others, and less of ourselves. 

Mrs. E. H. B. 



Dear Papa David: 

I was born on a farm thirty- one years 
ago and the man I married was a farmer. 
But I didn't like the farm. My husband, 
though, was a naturally born farmer and 
loved everything (Continued on page 71) 







ar 





Four people can ride. in "Grand Slam" — that's handy, because four is just the size of the Family Weist. 



46 





Wife Elizabeth, young 

Gretchen and Richard — 

they're all used to 

moving around at high speed. 



JM 




H 



Dwight Weist— commuter with wings 



WHEN Dwight Weist comes home from 
work every late afternoon, eight-year-old 
Gretchen and. six-year-old Richard stop 
their play at the faint sound of an airplane 
engine in the distance. Then they scream. 
"Daddy?s plane!" And then, with their collie 
"Lassie," they rush pellmell down the garden 
lawn to the shore of Lake Tomahawk, in 
Orange County, New York State. There- they 
jump up and down, waving, shouting (and 
barking) while the amphibious plane roars 
down to the lake for a landing. 

And a second later, he has taxied his oddly 
shaped silver- colored plane up to the stone 
dock built by the children and himself. He 
is home for dinner! 




No timetables to memorize, no racing for trains 



Lassie's the proudest dog in the county. Not every master wings home in a Seabee with a plexiglas nose ! 







Dwight Weist is heard 

as Stan Burton in The 

Second Mrs. Burton, 

daily, 2 P.M. EST., CBS. 



47 




Daytimes, "Grand Slam" waits co- 
sily at its Wall Street mooring. 



i ♦ ' « * ' « 




Dwight's day is so full he doesn't always know what show conies next. 



Months ago, the neighbors gave up staring at 
Dwight Weist's "Grand Slam" — though they haven't 
yet given up talking about it. It's a Seabee, made 
by Republic Aircraft; and it looks like no other plane 
yet made. Its cabin, which holds four people, has a 
plexiglas nose like a bomber; and its engine rests 
on top of the cabin, with the propeller fastened be- 
hind the cabin — so that the plane is pushed instead 
of pulled. "Horse power? 215," says Dwight briskly 
when discussing his new airbaby. "Cruising speed — 
105 miles an hour." 

BUT the fact that Dwight flies back and forth to 
his radio work in New York City isn't the least 
bit astonishing once you're hep to his philosophy. 
"It takes me thirty minutes by air — it'd be one hun- 
dred and forty minutes driving time. Much faster," 
says he. Fast is the word for his career too: he's on 
the CBS Grand Slam show; he announces Inner 
Sanctum, Big Town and NBC's Aldrich Family. He 
plays the male lead, Stan Burton, in The Second 
Mrs. Burton — and on the side he is a commentator 
for Pathe Newsreel. All of which is quite an armful 
in the course of a week — and all of which he does 
calmly and at top speed. From rushing by foot to 
various shows to rushing by air to work is a short 
step, he thinks. 

Furthermore, the airplane in his life gives rise to 
new adventures. And new friends — and new en- 
emies! Take what happened a few weeks back: 

He and his pretty wife Elizabeth were flying 
leisurely back home to Lake "Tomahawk from New 



York City. While they flew, he discussed his radio 
career that day, and she discussed the shopping spree 
she had just indulged in. Then, suddenly, the bright 
afternoon sky became dark, a deep haze obscured 
everything including the horizon — and below them, 
in the murky gloom, a few lights began twinkling. 
They were only five minutes from home, but Dwight 
instantly thought of his motto: "I don't want to be 
the trickiest pilot in the world, I just want to be the 
oldest one." 

He told his wife, "Dear, I think we'd better make 
our first emergency landing." 

"Yes, but where?" said Elizabeth, looking down 
into black oblivion. 

"I'm heading for the Hudson River," said Dwight. 
Then he caught sight of a necklace of lights far below. 



48 




Nighttimes, Dwight lands on Lake Tomahawk, taxis up on the beach, moors his plane practically at his front door. 



He decided they represented Route 17, and if he 
followed them he'd be led home to Tomahawk Lake. 
But at this moment his wife nudged his arm. 

"I think I see a lake over there on the left," 
said she. 

"Okay," said her husband — and promptly headed 
the plane toward a tiny circle of lights in the middle 
of which he saw the glint of dark water. By the 
time they made a power landing on the unknown 
lake, he could see no water at all. But the plane 
settled safely on the lake's surface, and he taxied 
it over to a boat dock he could dimly make out on 
shore. He opened the door — and an angry man began 
shouting at him from the dock. 

" II EY— don't you know this is Tuxedo Park Lake? 
Private property, a reservoir, and no plane is 
ever allowed to land here!" the man yelled. He 
meant it, too. He was the lake's guard, posted there 
by the wealthy estate owners who surround the lake, 
and he was flabbergasted at the idea of any stray 
plane landing on the sacred waters. 

There ensued a loud argument between him and 
Dwight, who refused to move his plane that night. 
The fight was interrupted by another stranger — an 
RAF pilot who happened to be visiting a nearby 
mansion. He had been (Continued on page 75) 




Dwight's motto is "I don't want to be the trickiest 
pilot — just the oldest." Richard will learn safety first. 



: 



49 




Don't stop at saying "Happy 



New Year." Produce one of these 



cakes, and your friends will 



know you really want them to be happy! 



By KATE SMITH 



50 



Chocolate always was good, always will be. What better way to start things off? 



OF ALL the cooking articles I write for 
Radio Mirror I think I like the January 
one best. Winds may howl, sleet and snow 
glaze my windows and the thermometer drop 
way below freezing, but to me there is still 
something exciting, something stimulating and 
heartwarming about the beginning of a new 
year. Sometimes, though, I wonder if we 
shouldn't change our customary greeting to 
"Happy Re-New Year." It is true that the 
word "new" holds a magic of its own, as 
though we have been given a fresh start in 
life, a chance for new happiness and success, 
and this is as it should be. But there is also 
something rather limiting about it, implying 
that in our eagerness for the new we wish to 
cut ourselves off from the old, which of course 
we do not want to do at all. We have all had 
moments when an old book or an old song 
satisfied some desire within us far better than 
a new one — I know this is especially true of 
music because so many of the requests I re- 
ceive for numbers to be sung over the air are 
for old favorites. We all want to make new 
friends, but even more, I believe, we want to 
renew and keep fresh our old friendships, and 
no matter how much we dream of a richer, 
more satisfying life for ourselves and our loved 
ones, we know we cannot create it except by 
using the knowledge and experience we have 
gained in the past. 
All this seems to be a far cry from cooking, 




RADIO MIRROR 

FOOD COUNSELOR 

Listen Monday through Friday at 
noon when Kate Smith Speaks, and 
Sunday nights at 6:30 EST, when Kate 
Smith Sings — on the CBS network. 



but maybe it isn't, after all. I can't, for exam- 
ple, think of a better way of making new 
friends and keeping old ones than to ask them 
to share the cakes pictured on these pages. 
Bake more than one — they go fast! 

New Year's Party Cake 

2 cups sifted cake flour 

1 tsp. soda 
34 tsp. salt 

l»/ 3 cups granulated, or firmly packed brown sugar 
',2 cup shortening 

*Milk (See * below for amount) 

2 eggs, unbeaten 

3 squares unsweetened chocolate, melted 
1 tsp. vanilla 



♦With butter, margarine or lard, use % cup milk. 
With vegetable or other shortening, use 1 cup milk. 

(Continued on page 68) 



INSIDE RADIO -Telling You About Programs and People Ybu Want to Hear 



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Carolina Calling 
Earl Wild, pianist 
Young People's Church 
White Rabbit Line 



Renfro Valley Folks 

Story to Order 

Words and Music 

Tone Tapestries 

Choir Practice 

Church of the Air 

Message of Israel 

Highlights of the Bible 

Radio Bible Class 

Church of the Air 

Southernaires 

Circle Arrow Show 

Voice of Prophecy 

Bible Institute 

Wings Over Jordan 

Hour of Faith 

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Choir 

Reviewing Stand 

Solitaire Time, Warde Dono- 
van 

Pilgrim Hour 

Invitation to Learning 

Eternal Light 

Lutheran Hour 

String Orchestra 

The Warden's Crime Cases 

Johnny Thompson 

People's Platform 

America United 

Leo Durocher 

American Radio Warblers 

Time for Reason 

Sammy Kaye's Orchestra 

Chicago Round Table 
MBS: Singing Sweethearts 
MBS: Opportunity U.S.A. 
NBC: Frank Black, Robert Merrill 
MBS: Married for Life 
ABC: Warriors of Peace 
NBC: Harvest of Stars, James 
Melton 

National Vespers 

Stradivari Orch. 

What the Veteran Wants to 
Know 

Danger, Dr. Danfield 

Open House 

New York Philharmonic 
Symphony 

Carmen Cavallaro 

A Present From Hollywood 
_. One Man's Family 
MBS: Vera Holly, songs 
ABC: Samuel Pettingill 

The Quiz Kids 

Are These Our Children? 

House of Mystery 

Lucky Stars 

Hour of Charm 

Green Hornet 

True Detective Mysteries 
NBC: NBC Symphony 
CBS: The Family Hour 
ABC: Darts for Dough 
MBS: The Shadow 
MBS: Quick as a Flash 
ABC: David Harding, Counterspy 
CBS: Hoagy Carmichael 
CBS: Adventures of Ozzie & 

Harriet 
ABC: Phil Davis 
MBS: Those Websters 
NBC: Catholic Hour 
MBS: Nick Carter 
ABC: Willie Piper 
NBC: Bob Burns 
CBS: Kate Smith Sings 
ABC: Drew Pearson 
MBS: Let's Go to the Opera 
NBC: Jack Benny 
CBS: Gene Autry 
MBS: Sammy Kaye 
ABC: Stump the Authors 
NBC: Fitch Bandwagon 
CBS: Blondie 
NBC: Edgar Bergen, Charlie 

McCarthy 
MBS: Mediation Board 
ABC: Paul Whiteman 
CBS: Adventures of Sam Spade 
MBS: Special Investigator 
CBS: Crime Doctor 
NBC: Fred Allen 
ABC: The Clock 
CBS: Ned Calmer 
CBS: Hildegarde 
MBS: Exploring the Unknown 
ABC: Walter Winched 
NBC: Manhattan Merry-Go-Round 
ABC: Louella Parsons' Show 
CBS: Eddie Bracken 
MBS: Double or Nothing 
NBC: American Album of Familiar 

Music 
ABC: Jimmie Fidler 
ABC: Policewoman, drama 
CBS: Take It or Leave It 
ABC: Theatre Guild 
NBC: Don Ameche Variety Show 
NBC: Meet Me at Parky's 
CBS: We the People 
MBS: Latin American Serenade 
CBS: Bill Costello 
NBC: Pacific Story 



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NEW STAR ON THE HORIZON 

It's hard to put your finger on exactly 
what it is that Peter Lind Hayes does to 
tickle your fancy and raise the chuckles. 
(He co-stars with Dinah Shore Wednesday 
nights at 9:30 EST, CBS.) His range is 
enormous and his appeal pretty universal. 
His satirical sketches, his seemirtgly off-the- 
shoulder character creations can hardly be 
called imitations. Maybe the best way to 
describe Hayes' effect on the sense of humor 
is to say that he does orally what Jimmy 
Savo accomplishes with his pantomime. 

Peter was born in San Francisco 30 years 
ago. His mother is the famous actress- 
comedienne, Grace Hayes, who certainly 
knows her way around on the "boards," as 
they say in the profession. Part of Peter's 
childhood was spent in South Illinois and 
a lot of his early schooling was got in New 
Rochelle, N. Y. Theater people are great 
travelers. 

Peter liked to travel — but — he also did 
not go for school in a big way. So, in 1932, 
he decided to give up trying to get an edu- 
cation and devote himself to the theater. 
He embarked on a vaudeville tour. 

Proximity and talent combined to get 
him into the movies and he appeared in 
several big productions like "Million Dollar 
Legs," with Betty Grable, "These Glamour 
Girls" with Lana Turner, in "Seven Days' 
Leave" and in "Playmates." 

In 1940 Peter married Mary Healy, who 
is now starring in Orson Welles' Broadway 
hit, "Around the World." The following 
year Peter and Mary appeared together in 
a coast production of "Rio Rita," which 
starred Joe E. Brown. In 1942 Peter enlisted 
in the Army. He rose to the rating of ser- 
geant and he is the recipient of the Bronze 
Star for heroic and meritorious service. He 
led a troupe of 11 men who put on 620 shows 
for over one million GI's throughout the 
South Pacific Theater of War. 

While Peter was in the Army, he also did 
a steady bit of writing, turning out the 
Hello Mom and Soldiers With Wings scripts, 
both top Army recruiting radio programs. 
And less than a month after he doffed the 
brown gown, he was headlining at the 
Strand Theater on Broadway. 

Then came Peter's debut at the Copa- 
cabana in New York. There wasn't one 
New York critic who didn't scramble 
around trying to find new ways to acclaim 
his brilliance. It was this overwhelming 
and spontaneous proclamation of greatness 
that led to his getting the co-starring spot 
on the new Dinah Shore show. Just to 
round out the picture of success, he's also 
been signed to a seven-year contract by 
International Pictures and, right now, is 
busily at work on his picture, entitled "Pea- 
body's Mermaid." 



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tft&tcUUf 



Eastern Standard Time 



9:00 ABC: Breakfast Club 

9:00 NBC: Honeymoon in New York 

9:15 CBS: This Is New York 

9:15 MBS: Shady Valley Folks 
10:00 CBS: Joe Powers of Oakville 
10:00 ABC: My True Story 
10:00 NBC: Lee Sullivan's Variety 
10:00 MBS: Once Over Lightly 
10:15 NBC: Lora Lawton 
10:15 MBS: Faith In Our Time 
10:30 CBS: Evelyn Winters 
10:25 ABC: Hymns of All Churches 
10:30 NBC: Road of Life 
10:30 MBS: Say It With Music 
10:45 ABC: Club Time 
10:45 CBS: Time to Remember 
10:45 NBC: Joyce Jordan 
10:45 MBS: Jackie Hill 
11:00 ABC: Tom Breneman's Breakfast 
11:00 NBC: Fred Waring Show 
11:00 CBS: Arthur Godfrey 
11:15 MBS: Tell Your Neighbor 
11:30 CBS: Time to Remember 
11:30 ABC: Gilbert Martyn 
11:30 MBS: Bill Harrington Sings 
11:30 NBC: Jack Berch 
11:45 CBS: Rosemary 
11:45 ABC: Ted Malone 
11:45 MBS: Victor H. Lindlahr 
11:45 NBC: David Harum 
12:00 ABC: Glamour Manor 
12:00 CBS: Kate Smith Speaks 
12:15 CBS: Aunt Jenny 
12:15 MBS: Morton Downey 
12:30 CBS: Romance of Helen Tront 
12:30 ABC: At Your Request 
12:30 MBS: Holiday On Wings 
12:45 CBS: Our Gal Sunday 
12:45 MBS: Naval Academy Band 

1:00 MBS: Editor's Diary 

1:00 CBS: Big Sister 

1:15 CBS: Ma Perkins 

1:30 CBS: Young Dr. Malone 

1:30 MBS: Enoch Light's Orchestra 

1:45 MBS: John J. Anthony 

1:45 CBS: Road of Life 

2:00 NBC: The Guiding Light 

2:00 CBS: The Second Mrs. Burf an 

2:15 ABC: Ethel & Albert 

2:15 NBC: Today's Children 

2:15 CBS: Perry Mason 

2:15 MBS: Smile Time 

2:30 NBC: Woman in White 

2:30 ABC: Bride and Groom 

2:30 MBS: Queen for a Day 

2:45 CBS: Sing Along Club 

2:45 NBC: Masquerade 

3:00 ABC: Ladies Be Seated 

3:00 CBS: Cinderella, Inc. 

3:00 NBC: Life Can Be Beautiful 

3:00 MBS: Heart's Desire 

3:15 NBC: Ma Perkins 

3:15 MBS: Judy Lang, songs 

3:30 ABC: Meet Me In Manhattan 

3:30 CBS: Winner Take All 

3:30 NBC: Pepper Young's Family 

3:30 MBS: Bobby Norris 

3:45 ABC: Jean Colbert 

3:45 NBC: Right to Happiness 

3:45 MBS: Jackie Hill 

4:00 ABC: Tommy Riggs Show 

4:00 CBS: House Party 

4:00 MBS: Erskine Johnson's Hollywood 

4:00 NBC: Backstage Wife 

4:15 NBC: Stella Dallas 

4:15 MBS: Johnson Family 

4:30 ABC: Cliff Edwards 

4:30 CBS: Give and Take 

4:30 MBS: Adventures of the Sea Hound 

4:30 NBC: Lorenzo Jones 

4:45 MBS: Buck Rogers 

4:45 ABC: Dick Tracy 

4:45 NBC: Young Wldder Brown 

5:00 CBS: American School of the Air 

5:00 ABC: Terry and the Pirates 

5:00 NBC: When a Girl Marries 

5:00 MBS: Hop Harrlgan 

5:15 NBC: Portia Faces Life 

5:15 ABC: Sky King 

5:15 MBS: Superman 

5:30 MBS: Captain Midnight • 

5:30 ABC: Jack Armstrong 

5:30 CBS: Oklahoma Roundup 

5:30 NBC: Just Plain Bill 

5:45 NBC: Front Page Farrell 

5:45 ABC: Tennessee Jed 

5:45 MBS: Tom Mix 

6:15 NBC: Sketches In Melodies 

6:15 CBS: In My Opinion 

6:30 CBS: Skyline Roof, Gordon Macra* 

7:00 CBS: Mystery of the Week 

7:00 NBC: Chesterfield Club 

7:15 CBS: Jack Smith 

7:30 CBS: Bob Hawk Show 

7:30 ABC: The Lone Ranger 

8:00 NBC: Cavalcade of America 

8:00 CBS: Inner Sanctum 

8:00 ABC: Lum & Abner 

8:00 MBS: Bulldog Drummond 

8:30 ABC: Fat Man Detective Series 

8:30 CBS: Joan Davis 

8:30 NBC: Voice of Firestone 

8:30 MBS: Case Book of Gregory Hood 

9:00 ABC: Dark Venture 

•tOO NBC: The Telephone Hour 

9:00 CBS: Lux Radio Theatre 

9:15 MBS: Real Stories 

9:30 NBC: Victor Borge 

9:30 MBS: Spotlight Bands 

9:30 ABC: Johnny Olsen's Rumpus 
Room 
CBS: Screen Guild Players 
NBC: Contented Program 
MBS: California Melodies 
ABC: Doctors Talk It Over 
ABC: Joe Mooney Quartet 
CBS: Tonight on Broadway 
NBC: Dr. I. Q. 



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00 ABC: Breakfast Club 

00 NBC: Honeymoon in New York 

15 CBS: This Is New York 

15 MBS: Shady Valley Folks 

30 NBC: Daytime Classics 

00 CBS: Joe Powers of Oakville 

00 ABC: My True Story 

00 MBS: Alan Scott 

00 NBC: Lee Sullivan's Varieties 

15 NBC: Lora Lawton 

15 MBS: Faith in Our Time 

30 CBS: Evelyn Winters 

25 ABC: Hymns of All Churches 

30 NBC: Road of Life 

30 MBS: Say It With Music 

45 ABC: The Listening Post 

45 NBC: Joyce Jordan 

00 NBC: Fred Waring Show 

00 ABC: Tom Breneman's Breakfast 

00 CBS: Arthur Godfrey 

15 MBS: Tell Your Neighbor 

30 ABC: Gilbert Martyn 

30 CBS: Grand Slam 

30 MBS: Bill Harrington 

30 NBC: Jack Berch 

45 CBS: Rosemary 

45 ABC: Galen Drake 

45 NBC: David Harum 

45 MBS: Victor H. Lindlahr 

00 ABC: Glamour Manor 

00 CBS: Kate Smith Speaks 

15 MBS: Morton Downey 

15 CBS: Aunt Jenny 

30 CBS: Romance of Helen Trent 

30 ABC: At Your Request 

30 MBS: Quaker City Serenade 

45 CBS: Our Gal Sunday 

00 MBS: Editor's Diary 

00 CBS: Big Sister 

00 NBC: U. S. Navy Band 

15 CBS: Ma Perkins 

15 MBS: Luncheon with Lopez 

30 CBS: Young Dr. Malone 

30 MBS: Tex Fletcher's Orchestra 

45 CBS: Road of Life 

45 MBS: John J. Anthony 

00 NBC: The Guiding Light 

00 CBS: The Second Mrs. Burton 

15 ABC: Ethel & Albert 

15 MBS: Smile Time 

15 NBC: Today's Children 

15 CBS: Perry Mason 

30 NBC: Woman in White 

30 ABC: Bride and Groom 

30 MBS: Queen for a Day 

45 CBS: Swing Along Club 

45 NBC: Masquerade 

00 CBS: Cinderella, Inc. 

00 ABC: Ladies Be Seated 

00 NBC: Life Can Be Beautiful 

00 MBS: Heart's Desire 

15 NBC: Ma Perkins 

30 NBC: Pepper Young's Family 

30 MBS: Bobby Norris 

30 CBS: Winner Take All 

30 ABC: Try and Find Me 

45 NBC: Right to Happiness 

45 MBS: Jackie Hill 

45 ABC: Jean Colbert 

00 ABC: Tommy Riggs Show 

00 CBS: House Party 

00 NBC: Backstage Wife 

00 MBS: Erskine Johnson's Hollywood 

15 NBC: Stella Dallas 

15 MBS: The Johnson Family 

30 NBC: Lorenzo Jones 

30 CBS: Give and Take 

30 MBS: Adventures of the Sea Hound 

30 ABC: Cliff Edwards 

45 ABC: Dick Tracy 

45 NBC: Young Widder Brown 

45 MBS: Buck Rogers 

00 ABC: Terry and the Pirates 

00 NBC: When a Girl Marries 

00 MBS: Hop Harrigan 

00 CBS: American School of the Air 

15 NBC: Portia Faces Life 

15 ABC: Sky King 

15 MBS: Superman 

30 ABC: Jack Armstrong 

30 NBC: Just Plain Bill 

30 MBS: Captain Midnight 

45 ABC: Tennessee Jed 

45 NBC: Front Page Farrell 

45 CBS: Sparrow and the Hawk 

45 MBS: Tom Mix | 

15 NBC: Jose Bethancourt, marimba 

15 CBS: Frontiers of Science 

30 CBS: Red Barber 

00 NBC: Chesterfield Supper Club 

00 CBS: Mystery of the Week 

15 CBS: Jack Smith 

15 MBS: Blue Barron's Orchestra 

30 CBS: American Melody Hour 

30 NBC: Songs by Warde Donovan 

00 CBS: Big Town 

00 ABC: Lum 'n' Abner 

00 NBC: Rudy Vallee 

00 MBS: Michael Shayne 

15 MBS: Inside Sports 

30 ABC: The O'Neils 

30 NBC: A Date With Judy 

30 CBS: Mel Blanc Show 

30 MBS: Adventures of the Falcon 

55 CBS: Bill Henry 

00 NBC: Amos 'n' Andy 

00 CBS: Vox Pop 

15 MBS: Real Stories 

30 ABC: Boston Symphony 

30 NBC: Fibber McGee & Molly 

30 MBS: American Forum of the Air 

30 CBS: Hollywood Players 

00 NBC: Bob Hope 

00 CBS: Talent Scouts 

30 CBS: Open Hearing 

30 MBS: Dance Orchestra 

30 NBC: Red Skelton 

15 CBS: Frontiers of Science 




COMMERCIAL CONSULTANT 

Leave us face it, commercials — and now 
singing ones — are a big and integral part of 
radio in these parts. It occurred to us that 
someone does those commercials, so we did 
a bit of scouting around and came up with 
Jean Tighe, the lovely blue-eyed, black- 
haired, 23-year-old young lady above, who's 
been dubbed NBC's "Commercials Con- 
sultant" by her co-workers. 

While Jeanie — as her friends and radio 
fellow workers call her — spreads her activi- 
ties pretty widely through the networks — 
you hear her before and after NBC's Portia 
Faces Life (Mondays through Fridays at 
5:15 P.M. EST) and ditto on The Second 
Mrs.' Burton (CBS. daily, 2 P.M., EST) and 
the Songs by Vera Massey program on 
WOR, Saturdays at 5:45 P.M., EST— she's 
most frequently on call for NBC for odd 
assignments. 

Asked if it could possibly be that doing 
commercials w«s her ambition, Jean shook 
her head. She was much more anxious, she 
said, to get a break than to go on "making 
the breaks in the shows." Considering her 
looks and her background, we wonder why 
she hasn't got that break so far. 

Jean was born in New York — Brooklyn — 
23 years ago. By the time she was twelve, 
Jean was touring the country in vaudeville, 
her specialties then being playing the guitar 
and the piano. Still later, but not too much 
later, she moved into night club work and 
added dancing to her variety of abilities. 

During the war — and this hasn't stopped 
yet — Jean spent every possible moment 
singing in the veterans' hospitals in the New 
York area. She has a deep concern for the 
maimed and wounded GI's and she even in- 
vented and copyrighted a game called "Bug- 
house," which is used in all the convalescent 
hospitals as a therapeutic measure. In- 
cidentally, Jean is one of the very few per- 
formers who is allowed to enter the psy- 
chopathic wards of our veterans' hospitals. 
It has to do with the soothing quality of her 
singing. 

Whenever she got a chance, Jean also 
studied flying out at the Flushing Airport. 
She's now a member of the Civil Air Pa- 
trol, which took the studying and passing 
of examinations, not only in flying, but in 
camouflage, Military Etiquette and First 
Aid. 

Looking the way she does, it isn't sur- 
prising that Television producers began to 
notice her. Unfortunately — or so Jean 
thinks — the fact that she's a sort of "com- 
mercials" specialist acted like a cinder in 
their eyes, because what they came up with 
for her to do on the Dumont Video Station 
was to make the time announcements. 

However, the kind of background and 
training she has had is bound to bring re- 
sults of a more desirable kind. She tried 
Hollywood some years ago, with no luck. 
It's entirely possible that the next time she 
tries, things will go much better for this 
very pretty girl with the beautiful voice. 



1 


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TtiecUtetoUuf 



Eastern Standard Time 



ABC: Breakfast Club 

NBC: Honeymoon in New York 

CBS: This is New York 

MBS: Shady Valley Folks 

NBC: Daytime Classics 

CBS: Joe Powers of Oakville 

NBC: Lee Sullivan's Varieties 

ABC: My True Story 

MBS: Once Over Lightly 

NBC: Lora Lawton 

MBS: Faith in Our Time 

ABC: Hymns of All Churches 

CBS: Evelyn Winters 

NBC: Road of Life 

MBS: Say It With Music 

CBS: Time to Remember 

ABC: The Listening Post 

NBC: Joyce Jordan 

MBS: Jackie Hill Show 

ABC: Tom Breneman's Breakfast 

NBC: Fred Waring Show 

CBS: Arthur Godfrey 

MBS: Tell Your Neighbor 

ABC: Gilbert Martyn 

CBS: Grand Slam 

MBS: Bill Harrington 

NBC: Jack Berch 

MBS: Victor H. Lindlahr 

CBS: Rosemary 

ABC: Ted Malone 

NBC: David Harum 

ABC: Glamour Manor 

CBS: Kate Smith Speaks 

MBS: Morton Downey 

CBS: Aunt Jenny 

CBS: Romance of Helen Trent 

ABC: At Your Request 

MBS: Quaker City Serenade 

CBS: Our Gal Sunday 

CBS: Big Sister 

MBS: Editor's Diary 

CBS: Ma Perkins 

MBS: Luncheon With Lopez 

CBS: Young Dr. Malone 

MBS: Tex Fletcher's Orchestra 

CBS: Road of Life 

MBS: John J. Anthony 

NBC: The Guiding Light 

CBS: The Second Mrs. Burton 

ABC: Ethel & Albert 

NBC: Today's Children 

CBS: Perry Mason 

MBS: Smile Time 

ABC: Bride and Groom 

NBC: Woman in White 

MBS: Queen for a Day 

CBS: Swing Along Club 

NBC: Masquerade 

ABC: Ladies Be Seated 

NBC: Life Can Be Beautiful 

MBS: Heart's Desire 

CBS: Cinderella, Inc. 

NBC: Ma Perkins 

CBS: Winner Takes All 

NBC: Pepper Young's Family 

ABC: Try and Find Me 

MBS: Bobby Norris 

ABC: Jean Colbert 

NBC: Right to Happiness 

MBS: Jackie Hill 

NBC: Backstage Wife 

CBS: House Party 

MBS: Erskine Johnson in Hollywood 

CBS: House Party 

MBS: The Johnson Family 

NBC: Stella Dallas 

ABC: Cliff Edwards 

MBS: Adventures of the Sea Hound 

CBS: Give and Take 

NBC: Lorenzo Jones 

ABC: Dick Tracy 

MBS: Buck Rogers 

NBC: Young Widder Brown 

ABC: Terry and the Pirates 

NBC: When a Girl Marries 

CBS: American School of the Air 

MBS: Hop Harrigan 

NBC: Portia Faces Life 

ABC: Sky King 

MBS: Superman 

ABC: Jack Armstrong 

CBS: Theatre of Romance 

MBS: Captain Midnight 

NBC: Just Plain Bill 

ABC: Tennessee Jed 

NBC: Front Page Farrell 

MBS: Tom Mix 

CBS: Word From the Country 

NBC: Jose Bethancourt 

CBS: Red Barber 

ABC: Headline Edition 

CBS: Mystery of the Week 

NBC: Chesterfield Supper Club 

CBS: Jack Smith 

MBS: The Korn Kobblers 

CBS: Adventures of Ellery Queen 

ABC: The Lone Ranger 

MBS: Battle of the Commentators 

NBC: Carolyn Gilbert 

ABC: Lum 'n' Abner 

MBS: What's the Name of That 

Song? 

NBC: Mr. and Mrs. North 

CBS: Jack Carson 

ABC: Listen to La Guardia 

MBS: It's Up to Youth 

NBC: The Great Gildersleeve 

ABC: Affairs of Ann Scotland 

CBS: Frank Sinatra 

NBC: Duffy's Tavern 

MBS: Real Stories 

ABC: Pot o' Gold 

MBS: Spotlight Bands 

NBC: Mr. District Attorney 

CBS: Dinah Shore 

CBS: Academy Award 

NBC: Frank Morgan 

ABC: Bing Crosby 

MBS: Author Meets Critics 

CBS: Information Please 

NBC: Kay Kyser 

ABC: Henry Morgan 



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*7&wi^ctOcf 



Eastern Standard Time 



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ABC: Breakfast Club 

NBC: Honeymoon in New York 

CBS: This Is New York 

MBS: Shady Valley Folks 

NBC: Daytime Classics 

CBS: Joe Powers of Oakville 

ABC: My True Story 

NBC: Lee Sullivan's Varieties 

MBS: Once Over Lightly 

NBC: Lora Lawton 

MBS: Faith in Our Time 

ABC: Hymns Of All Churches 

NBC: Road of Life 

CBS: Evelyn Winters 

MBS: Say It With Music 

CBS: Time to Remember 

ABC: The Listening Post 

NBC: Joyce Jordan 

CBS: Arthur Godfrey 

ABC: Tom Breneman's Breakfast 

NBC: Fred Waring Show 

MBS: Tell Your Neighbor 

ABC: Gilbert Martyn 

MBS: Bill Harrington 

CBS: Grand Slam 

NBC: Jack Berch 

CBS: Rosemary 

NBC: David Harum 

MBS: Victor H. Lindlahr 

ABC: Glamour Manor 

CBS: Kate Smith Speaks 

CBS: Aunt Jenny 

MBS: Morton Downey 

CBS: Romance of Helen Trent 

ABC: At Your Request 

MBS: Quaker City Serenade 

CBS: Our Gal Sunday 

MBS: U. S. Navy Band 

CBS: Big Sister 

MBS: Editor's Diary 

CBS: Ma Perkins 

MBS: Luncheon with Lopez 

CBS: Young Dr. Malone 

MBS: Tei Fletcher's Orchestra 

MBS: John J. Anthony 

CBS: Road of Life 

NBC: The Guiding Light 

CBS: The Second Mrs. Burton 

ABC: Ethel & Albert 

NBC: Today's Children 

CBS: Perry Mason 

MBS: Smile Time 

ABC: Bride and Groom 

NBC: Woman in White 

MBS: Queen for a Day 

CBS: Sing Along Club 

NBC: Masquerade 

ABC: Ladies Be Seated 

MBS: Heart's Desire 

CBS: Cinderella, Inc. 

NBC: Ma Perkins 

NBC: Pepper Young's Family 

ABC: Try and Find Me 

MBS: Bobby Norris 

CBS: Winner Takes All 

NBC: Right to Happiness 

MBS: Jackie Hill 

ABC: Jean Colbert 

ABC: Tommy Riggs Show 

CBS: House Party 

NBC: Backstage Wife 

MBS: Erskine Johnson In Hollywood 

NBC: Stella Dallas 

MBS: Johnson Family 

CBS: Give and Take 

MBS: Adventures of the Sea Hound 

NBC: Lorenzo Jones 

ABC: Cliff Edwards 

ABC: Dick Tracy 

MBS: Buck Rogers 

NBC: Young Widder Brown 

ABC: Terry and the Pirates 

NBC: When a Girl Marries 

MBS: Hop Harrigan 

CBS: American School of the Air 

NBC: Portia Faces Life 

ABC: Sky King 

MBS: Superman 

ABC: Jack Armstrong 

MBS: Captain Midnight 

NBC: Just Plain Bill 

ABC: Tennessee Jed 

NBC: Front Page Farrell 

CBS: Sparrow and the Hawk 

MBS: Tom Mix 

CBS: In My Opinion 

NBC: Jose Bethancourt's Orchestra 

CBS: Red Barber 

NBC: Clem McCarthy 

NBC: Chesterfield Supper Club 

CBS: Jack Smith 

MBS: Korn Kobblers 

CBS: Mr. Keen 

ABC: Professor Quiz 

NBC: Dennis Day 

ABC: Lum 'n' Abner 

CBS: Suspense 

NBC: Aldrich Family 

MBS: Mark Warnow's Orchestra 

ABC: America's Town Meeting 

NBC: Burns and Allen 

MBS: Vic and Sade 

•CBS: F.B.I, in Peace and War 

CBS: Bill Henry 

CBS: Dick Haymes 

MBS: Gabriel Heatter 

NBC: Eddie Duchin. Edward Everett 

Horton 

MBS: Real Stories 

CBS: Crime Photographer 

ABC: Take It From There 

MBS: By Popular Demand 

NBC: Jack Haley with Eve Arden 

ABC: Sammy Kaye 

MBS: Eddie Dooley's All American 

Football Roundup 

NBC: Abbott and Costello 

ABC: Ralph Norman's Orchestra 

NBC: Eddie Cantor 

MBS: I Was a Convict 

CBS: That's Finnegan 




LADY COP COPS THE AIR 

Mary Sullivan, whose experiences as a 
policewoman on the Homicide Squad fur- 
nish the material which is dramatized on 
Policewoman (ABC, Sundays, 8:45 PM, 
EST) is a motherly, 64-year-old woman. 
Retired from active service after 35 years 
with the N. Y. Police Department, during 
which time she won three honor medals 
for distinguished detective service and rose 
to the position of Director of the New York 
Police Woman's Bureau of 195 cops, Mrs. 
Sullivan adds her personal comments on 
each case. 

Mrs. Sullivan did not start out in life 
with wide-eyed dreams of adventure. She 
was born in the police tradition, three broth- 
ers, one uncle and two cousins being mem- 
bers of New York's finest, but that had 
little to do with her eventual career. In a 
perfectly usual and normal fashion, Mary 
Sullivan grew up, fell in love and got mar- 
ried. Then, shortly after her daughter was 
born, Mary Sullivan was widowed. 

Clever, intelligent and energetic, Mary 
Sullivan got herself a job as a matron 
in a police station. 

It was an event in the bitter winter of 
1911 that made Mary Sullivan change jobs 
again. One cold day, a blonde sat in the 
Hell's Kitchen police station, wrapped in 
furs and silence. Days of grilling had 
failed to shake her stony calm or get a word 
out of her concerning a dope smuggler's 
murder. Finally, the inspector, exasperated 
beyond all patience, strode out to the ma- 
tron's desk, where Mary Sullivan was filling 
out some reports. 

"I wish you'd talk to that dame and see 
if you can't get something out of her," the 
inspector said. That was how Mary Sulli- 
van's career was born, in a day and age 
when there were as yet no such things as 
policewomen. 

Anyone who is inclined to think that the 
stories dramatized on the Policewoman 
show sound far-fetched, has only to hear 
Mary Sullivan reminisce about some of her 
experiences first hand. Once she lived 
for weeks with a gangster's opium-smoking 
moll to collect information on the murder 
of Herman Rosenthal, who was shot down 
in front of a New York hotel. Then, on 
another case, Mary Sullivan moved into the 
apartment of a killer's wife to learn her 
peculiarities of speech, which peculiarities 
she finally mimicked so well on the tele- 
phone that she learned the killer's hideout 
and thus brought about his arrest. 

Her jobs may have been tough and un- 
ladylike, but they have left little stamp on 
her personality. She is the grandmother 
of two boys who fought in World War II and 
a good grandmother, with all the qualities 
of softness, kindness and affection that such 
a role calls for. In addition, at 64, she has 
something not many other grandmothers 
can boast of having — the energy, imagina- 
tion and zest for living that enables her to 
start out on a brand new career — in radio. 



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?i£cUuf 



Eastern Standard Time 



ABC: Breakfast Club 

NBC: Honeymoon in New York 

CBS: This is New York 

MBS: Shady Valley Folks 
I NBC: Daytime Classics 
1 CBS Joe Powers of Oakville 
i ABC: My True Story 

NBC: Lee Sullivan's Varieties 

MBS: Once Over Lightly 

NBC: Lora Lawton 

MBS: Faith in Our Time 

ABC: Hymns of All Churches 

CBS: Evelyn Winters 
i NBC: Road of Life 
I MBS: Say It With Music 
> CBS: Time to Remember 

NBC: Joyce Jordan 

ABC: The Listening Post 

MBS: The Jackie Hill Show 
I ABC: Tom Breneman's Breakfast 
I NBC: Fred Waring Show 
I CBS: Arthur Godfrey 
; MBS: Tell Your Neighbor 

ABC: Gilbert Martyn 
i CBS: Grand Slam 
i MBS: Bill Harrington Sings 
i CBS: Rosemary 
! ABC: Ted Malone 

NBC: David Harum 
; MBS: Victor H. Lindlahr 
I ABC: Glamour Manor 
I CBS: Kate Smith Speaks 
i CBS: Aunt Jenny 
i MBS: Morton Downey 
I CBS: Romance of Helen Trent 
I ABC: At Your Request 
i MBS: Division Diary 
! CBS: Our Gal Sunday 
I CBS: Big Sister 
i MBS: The Editor's Diary 
i CBS: Ma Perkins 
; MBS: Luncheon with Lopez 
I CBS: Young Dr. Malone 
I MBS: Tex Fletcher's Orchestra 
; CBS: Road of Life 
; MBS: John J. Anthony 
I NBC: The Guiding Light 
I CBS: The Second Mrs. Burton 
; ABC: Ethel & Albert 
; CBS: Perry Mason 

MBS: Smile Time 
I ABC: Bride and Groom 
i NBC: Woman in White 

MBS: Queen for a Day 
; CBS: Sing Along Club 
i NBC: Masquerade 
I ABC: Ladies Be Seated 
I CBS: Cinderella, Inc. 

NBC: Life Can Be Beautiful 

MBS: Heart's Desire 
; NBC: Ma Perkins 
I CBS: Winner Takes All 

ABC: Try and Find Me 

NBC: Pepper Young's Family 
i MBS: Bobby Norris 
; NBC: Right to Happiness 
; MBS: Jackie Hill 
; ABC: Jean Colbert 
I ABC: Tommy Riggs 
i CBS: House Party 
i MBS: Erskine Johnson 
i NBC: Backstage Wife 
! MBS: Johnson Family 

NBC: Stella Dallas 
Cliff Edwards 
i CBS: Give and Take 
I NBC: Lorenzo Jones 
i MBS: Adventures of the Sea Hound 
; ABC: Dick Tracy 
i MBS: Buck Rogers 
; NBC: Young Widder Brown 
I ABC: Terry and the Pirates 
I CBS: American School of the Air 
i NBC: When a Girl Marries 
I MBS: Hop Harrigan 
; NBC: Portia Faces Life 
; ABC: Sky King 
! MBS: Superman 
I MBS: Captain Midnight 
i ABC: Jack Armstrong 
i NBC: Just Plain Bill 

NBC: Front Page Farrell 
; ABC: Tennessee Jed 
i MBS: Tom Mix 
i ABC: Kiernan's News Corner 

CBS: Report From Washington 
i CBS- Red Barber, sports 
< NBC: Clem McCarthy 

NBC: Chesterfield Supper Club 
; CBS: Jack Smith 
i ABC: The Lone Ranger 
l ABC: Court of Missing Heirs 
I CBS: Baby Snooks 
I NBC: Highways in Melody 
Paul Lavalle 

MBS: Burl Ives 

MBS: Monica's Music Box 

NBC: Alan Young Show 

CBS: Adventures of Thin Man 

MBS: Love Story Theater 

ABC: This Is Your F.B.I. 

ABC: Break the Bank 

NBC: People Are Funny 

MBS: Real Stories 

ABC: The Sheriff 

MBS: Spotlight Bands 

NBC: Waltz Time 

CBS: Durante and Moore 

ABC: Boxing Bouts 

MBS: Spotlight on America 

NBC Molle Mystery Theater 

CBS: It Pays to Be Ignorant 

MBS: Meet the Press 

CBS: Maisie 



53 



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CBS: Phil Cook 

NBC: Richard Leibert, Organist 



CBS: Missus Goes A-Shopping 
ABC: Musical Novelty Group . 



CBS: Margaret Arlen 



CBS: The Garden Gate 



CBS: 
NBC: 
MBS: 



NBC: A Miss and a Male 

ABC: Buddy Weed, Trio 
CBS: Give and Take 
MBS: Smilin' Ed McConnell 
NBC: Adventures of Frank Merri- 
well 



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ABC: 
NBC: 



Wake Up and Smile 
Percolator Party 



Carolina Calling 
Camp Meetin' Choir 
Rainbow House 



MBS: Jackie Hill Show 

CBS: Mary Lee Taylor 

NBC: Adventures of Archie Andrews 

ABC: Junior Junction 

ABC: Elizabeth Woodward 

NBC: Teentimers Club 

CBS: Let's Pretend 

ABC: Johnny Thompson 

MBS: Vacation Symphonies 

ABC: Piano Playhouse 

NBC: Smilin' Ed McConnell 

MBS: Quaker City Serenade 

CBS: Theater of Today 

MBS: Judy 'n Jill 'n Johnny 

ABC: Texas Jim Robertson 

NBC: Consumer Time 



CBS: 
ABC: 
NBC: 
MBS: 

NBC: 
CBS: 
ABC: 
MBS: 
ABC: 

ABC: 
CBS: 
NBC: 

ABC: 
NBC: 

MBS: 



Stars Over Hollywood 
American Farmer 
Home is What You Make It 
Saturday Symphonies 

National Farm & Home Hour 
Grand Central Station 
To Live in Peace 
Checkerboard Jamboree 
To Live in Peace 

Dance Music 
County Fair 
The Veteran's Aid 

Metropolitan Opera 
Your Host Is Buffalo 
Sports Parade 



CBS: Adventures in Science 



CBS: 
NBC: 

MBS: 



Of Men and Books 

The Baxters 

Art Jarrett's Orchestra 



2:45 MBS: Game of the Week 
3:00 MBS: Football 



CBS: Cross Section AFL 



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CBS: Matinee at Meadowbrook 
ABC: Dance Music 



MBS: George Towne's Orchestra 
NBC: Edward Tomlinson 



NBC: Doctors at Home 



MBS: Cleveland Symphony 

ABC: Chittison Trio 

CBS: Columbia Workshop 

MBS: Lorenzo Fuller 

ABC: Harry Wismer, sports 

MBS: Eddie Howard 

ABC: Labor, U. S. A. 

NBC: Religion in the News 

NBC: Our Foreign Policy 

MBS: Hawaii Calls 

ABC: It's Your Business 

CBS: Sweeney and Marsh 

ABC: Curt Massey Show 

NBC: Curtain Time, drama 

CBS: Vaughn Monroe 

MBS: Korn Kobblers 

MBS: Crime Doesn't Pay 

MBS: 20 Questions 

ABC: Famous Jury Trials 

CBS: Hollywood Star Time 

NBC: Life of Riley 

ABC: I Deal in Crime 

MBS: Juvenile Jury 

NBC: Truth or Consequences 

CBS: Mayor of the Town 

CBS: Ned Calmer 

MBS: Gold and Silver Minstrels 

CBS: Your Hit Parade 

NBC: Roy Rogers 

ABC: Gang Busters 

NBC: Can You Top This? 

MBS: Leave It to the Girls 

ABC: Adventures of Sherlock 
Holmes 

CBS: Saturday Night Serenade 



ABC: 
MBS: 
NBC: 

NBC: 



American Melodies 
Theater of the Air 
Judy Canova 

Grand Old Opry 
Hayloft Hoedown 



Ring for Her Finger 

(Continued from page 37) 



glamorous, as breathlessly exciting as 
if we had met for the first time, and 
married, the day we sailed. . . . 

But the way it began: I, just about 
beginning to be girl-conscious, was dat- 
ing a girl whose name was Helen Web- 
er. One night, at her house, "Gosh," I 
said, just to make conversation, "I have 
a birthday coming up!" 

Helen said, "When?" 

"November 16th," I told her, "and co- 
incidence — I'll be fifteen!" 

"Well, well, well," Helen said, with a 
thoughtful smile. "Why, I have a cousin 
has a birthday the very same day. Her 
name is Victoria Stuart. She was named 
for her uncle, Victor Schertzinger, the 
famous movie director and producer. 
Tell you what, we'll have a party! I 
know, I'll have a joint birthday party 
for the two of you!" 

The evening of the 16th, I turned up 
at Helen's house done up in all my 
birthday gear — new sports coat, new tie, 
new wallet, new socks and belt and 
shoes, feeling pretty sharp but looking, 
of course, bored to the point of pain. 

WHEN Helen, making a big do of it, 
introduced me to Vickii, I didn't say 
to myself, and neither did she, "This is 
it!" Actually, we were both too young, 
young even for our age, to face any 
reality beyond the next dance record. 
I think my very first impression was 
that, for a girl, I liked her. And I do re- 
member thinking she was the dreami- 
est dancer I had ever danced with. As 
for her looks, I thought she was "dif- 
ferent." Since my ideal girl was, and 
is, a girl who looks smart and "dif- 
ferent," Vickii's face and figure, her 
clothes and the way she wore them, 
fitted into my dream of beauty like a 
picture into a locket made for it. 

Between dances — and hamburgers — 
I had, however, a pretty miserable 
time of it with the dark damsel who 
certainly wasn't making any effort to 
give me a happy birthday on hers. 
Painfully shy, Vickii was the type who 
threw out sarcastic remarks in an ef- 
fort to cover it: the number of ham- 
burgers I stowed away, for instance. 
"The food you eat!" she said, "It's re- 
pulsive!" It certainly was. I ate like 
a team of horses. Always have. Still 
do. 

Since I've had sense enough to appre- 
ciate it, I have always especially liked 
Victoria's honesty. "How did you like 
the show?" I'll ask her when I get home 
from a broadcast. "The second number 
wasn't good," she'll say. She admits 
that she is "super-critical" when it 
comes to me, and sometimes worries 
about it. She needn't. In a business 
where you get so much corn syrup, hon- 
est criticism keeps your ego cut down 
to size. But, at fifteen, you are too vul- 
nerable to take it. . . . 

As much as we liked each other the 
night we met — and we have long since 
acknowledged how much — we did not 
start dating for a very long (time 
wasted) time. We were, to tell the 
truth, a little embarrassed. Helen 
Weber and I had been "going together," 
and Helen was Vickii's cousin and, 
well, it was just one of those things 
that, at fifteen, is a Situation. But we 
did meet at parties, at the beach, at 
the movies and although we did not 
pair off, when Vickii was present, no 
other girl was 

Of those days during which, I still 
regret, we did not get together, Vickii 



says, "How could we?" I spent most 
of my time, she explains, not making 
time with her but parked in front of a 
radio listening to Bing Crosby, then 
crooning himself into legendry as one 
of The Rhythm Boys at the Cocoanut 
Grove. Vickii adds, "Furthermore, the 
only ever-lovin' words 7 ever heard you 
say were 'Oh, if I could sing at the 
Cocoanut Grove, I'd die happy!' " She 
does admit, however, that she was no- 
end impressed when, three months 
after she first heard me offer to die for 
the privilege of singing at -the Grove, 
I — and two friends of mine (we called 
ourselves The Three Ambassadors) — 
were booked into the Grove, replacing 
Bing's old outfit. 

I was still at Hollywood High during 
the day, in my third year, but you can 
be sure I fixed things so that rehearsal 
and performance times fitted ! And for a 
thrill there may be one to beat the way 
I felt when I sang the same solo num- 
bers Bing sang, but I doubt it. 

It must have been a year after I 
started singing at the Grove that, no 
longer "going steady" with Helen, I paid 
my first call on Vickii — taking my pal, 
Chuck Cormack, along with me. There- 
after, and for many months, the three 
of us went out together, and had so 
much fun together that it never oc- 
curred to me (come clean, Smith, you 
didn't have the nerve!) to ask Vickii 
for a date, solo. Besides, Vickii wasn't 
the type you felt you owned. (You 
don't feel it now. You still pursue . . . ) 

AFTER The Three Ambassadors got 
really going, appearing, as we did, 
with Kate Smith, Eddie Cantor and other 
big name, big band programs, we went 
East with Phil Harris. The engage- 
ment was supposed to last six weeks but 
went on, here, there and everywhere 
but Hollywood for two years. 

During that time, I kept remembering 
Vickii. . . . 

I kept remembering her a little more 
than I might otherwise have done be- 
cause my brother Walter — indeed, yes, 
the Walter Reed (Smith) of RKO Pic- 
tures — was in New York with me and 
he liked Vickii, too, and had her pic- 
ture and put it on his dresser and that 
griped me. Walter wrote to Vickii, too, 
and heard from her and worried to me 
(of all people!) that she was going out 
with other boys and that one boy 
looked "serious." I, by the way, did 
not go out with others girls, partly be- 
cause I worked from seven in the eve- 
ning to five in the morning, but mostly 
because, since boy meets girl if he 
really wants to, no matter what his 
hours, I hadn't the heart for it. 

When, eventually, we got back to the 
Coast, doggone if Walter, after dinner 
our first night home, didn't call Vic- 
toria on the telephone. On the upstairs 
phone. And continued to call her — on 
the upstairs phone — every night for 
weeks. Until I got on the downstairs 
phone and we really had it out! ■ 

There was, in addition to the com- 
petition offered me by my brother, 
a pack of wolves all, to my greensick 
eyes, fabulously wealthy and winning, 
in full pursuit of Victoria. There was, 
in particular, a character who owned a 
Cadillac "coup" and the wherewithal 
to hang a girl in mink and diamonds. 
He was a tough one, this business man. 
He was, my brother gloomily remarked, 
"in dead earnest." Suddenly the words 
"so am I!" rang, like bells, in my head. 



Time after time before I got the 
words out, I'd wanted to propose, tried 
to propose, been afraid to propose to 
Victoria. Time after time I'd lost 
my nerve and had spent the evening, 
time a'wastin,' telling her some gag 
Phil Harris had pulled in New York. 
Or what Kate Smith's favorite book 
was. Or how Bing had made a hole 
in one the day before. When a fellow 
is wide awake to the fact that there is 
only one girl for him, or ever will be, 
the very thought of putting your whole 
happiness to the test is like the thought 
of jumping off the Matterhorn. 

... It was in some cafe— naturally, I 
don't remember the name of it — on 
Wilshire Boulevard, in Hollywood, that, 
in the most ineffectual, round-about 
way a man ever said "Will you?" to a 
woman, I proposed to Vickii. I began by 
saying, "I'm-er-going East in-er-about 
three weeks." Long pause. Then, 
squirming like an uneasy eel, "Do you 
think," I fumbled, "I mean, would you 
ever-er-consider coming East your- 
self — sometime?" After which, there 
was another, pause. It seemed to go on 
and on like the circles that widen into 
infinity after a pebble the size of a 
molecule is thrown into one of the 
Great Lakes. 

THEN, as I was going down for the 
third time,' I heard Vickii speaking 
words I didn't rightly hear, and so, can- 
not remember, except that they con- 
veyed the impression that she might, 
indeed that she would "Consider com- 
ing East sometime" — and why. 

You talk about reprieves — brother! I 
was literally bowled over. I hadn't 
really thought she would. I hadn't 
ever thought so. She had such a won- 
derful family; such close family ties; 
so many friends; so many dates; the 
big business menace. . . . 

Back in New York, even though I had 
left her with my ring on her finger, 
and our engagement announced, the 
sense that something too good to be 
true couldn't come true, continued to 
haunt and harass me. 

There was, I reflected despondently, 
so much against us. "If you don't like 
it, come on home," her uncle Victor 
said when she told him she was going 
to New York to be married. Vickii's 
father, a solidly successful advertising 
man, had very little respect for the 
theatrical profession. "You know you 
will starve," her father told her when 
Victoria went to him with the news that 
she was going to marry a singer. "He 
can't possibly earn a living," Mr. Stuart 
added. "Therefore, I will continue your 
allowance so that you can, at least, eat." 

Not until Vickii's father learned that 
she was spending her allowance on lit- 
tle luxuries, foolish things, did he with- 
draw it and, at the same time, his dis- 
approval of me. Now, Vickii's Dad is 
my Number One fan — even going so 
f^ 1 - as to compare me (favorably) with 
Sinatra. 

Needling my depression during the 
three months — from August, when I left 
Hollywood, to November when Vickii 
came to New York — was the basic fear 
that she would plain forget me. A fear 
not without foundation, for in one let- 
ter she wrote, "It's a funny thing about 
me, but if I don't see someone for two 
or three weeks, I forget what they look 
like." As if this wasn't ominous enough, 
in a later letter she said, "You had 
better send me that full-face picture 
you promised me, I've forgotten how 
you look." 

In an attempt to keep myself in her 
memory, and in her heart, I sent her 
flowers every time I knew she was be- 




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55 



ing given a shower, or was going to a 
party or was, if ever, staying home — 
anywhere, in fact, any time, I "re- 
minded" her with roses. 

There will never again be a longer 
three months than those three months 
of worrying and waiting — and when, at 
long last; on November 14, Walter and 
I met Vickii's train at Grand Central, 
she stepped off it and (as if I hadn't 
suffered enough) threw her arms 
around my brother, kissed him — and 
shook hands with me! 

ON the 16th of November— "our" 
birthday — Vickii and I were married 
in Christ Church, at 60th and Park Ave- 
nue in New York. In that huge dim 
church the voices of our little wed- 
ding party (eight in all) resounded 
against, it seemed to me, the very walls 
of heaven. The ring box which my 
brother kept clicking nervously, open 
and shut, between his fingers, sounded 
like cannon firing. Vickii wore a tai- 
lored suit which was the glossy black- 
brown color (note that this is ten years 
later, Mrs. Smith; I do not forget) of 
her eyes and hair, and carried the 
white flowers that are her favorites — 
gardenias and lilies of the valley. 

Less than a year ago I discovered, 
pressed in a book of Victoria's, a faded 
spray of lily of the valley and, be- 
cause Vickii never keeps things, but 
had kept this memento of our marriage 
day, I felt — look, I'm a singer, not a 
poet! 

I believe that being away from our 
homes and our families, during the first 
year or so of married life, helped more 
than anything else to cement firmly the 
foundation of our marriage. In New 
York, with not a relative around, we 
had to stand together, and close to- 
gether, on our own four feet and if we 
had any temptation to "run home to 
Mama" the three thousand miles we 
would have had to run, overcame it. 

Actually, most of our differences 
were small ones. Our taste in food, for 
instance: Apart from the fact that I 
eat like a behemoth, Vickii like a bird, 
my favorite dinner, and I wanted it 
every night of the week, was steak, 
mashed potatoes, peas and pie. Vickii, 
on the other hand, is mad for foreign 
food— Spanish, Mexican, East Indian — 
and, since she can cook like a female 
Savarin, soon "adjusted" me to currys, 
smorgasbord and bamboo shoots. 

I am or was, inclined to be extrava- 
gant. Every Sunday, during our first 



year, I would take the dog and trek 
over to a florist, returning laden with 
red roses and gardenias, for Victoria. 
Until Victoria, who is a Stuart, com- 
plained that her Scotch blood was on 
the boil and couldn't I, if I had to buy 
out a hothouse, do it on Friday night 
when it might serve to impress dinner 
guests on Saturday! 

Basically, however, we have very 
much — I'd practically say exactly — 
the same likes and dislikes. We are both 
crazy about dogs, always have been; 
have one Cocker, Buff, and a sizeable 
art gallery of dog pictures, photographs, 
sketches, etchings and paintings on 
plates. We both dislike fortune-tellers, 
anything that smacks of black magic. 
We both love shows and double feature 
movies. We love carnivals and fairs. 
We both like to talk in bed until comes 
the dawn. We both love to fix a home. 
One of our completely shared hobbies 
is a passion for buying, and working on, 
old furniture. In our apartment in New 
York there are, among other things, a 
Seventeenth Century broom-maker's 
bench, a Seventeenth Century hanging 
cupboard, a milk bench and a Dutch 
sink, with a radio concealed in its in- 
nards, which after weeks spent in re- 
moving libelous layers of paint, we 
linseed-oiled, waxed and rubbed. Milk 
glass is another hobby. Every Satur- 
day, my one day off, we drive up to 
Connecticut, go browsing about in an- 
tique shops. Demon painters, both of us, 
when we were engaged we painted 
my mother's beach house — all three 
sides of it. The fourth side we, beat- 
up, left to the brushwork of wind and 
sun and rain. Recently, I shellacked 
the floors in our apartment and al- 
though it meant that for three days 
Jack Smith was off the Jack Smith 
Show on account the shellack had shel- 
lacked his voice, it was worth it. 

With all this love of home, we've 
never had a home of our own, are dy- 
ing for one and, soon now, will have 
it. In Glendale, California, where we 
own a couple of lots, we plan to build 
a house of the kind that looks as if it 
had been lived in since Victoria reigned 
(in England), but with all the modern 
conveniences. Whitewashed brick will, 
we figure, take the curse off modern 
architecture. Windows to the floor, 
modern string rugs and all that labor- 
saving gadgetry. 

In California, when we go there, I 
may make — am thinking about, am in- 
terested in making — a picture. Pre- 




56 



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viously, when I have been paged by 
the movies, I've hesitated, said "No," 
believing that a shoemaker should 
stick to his last and that mine is radio. 
Now, I've come to feel that one medium 
helps, and feeds, the other. At the 
same time, I worry about it, wonder . . . 
When, not long ago, one of my man- 
agers came to me with the outline for 
a big publicity campaign which, if suc- 
cessful, might mean that I'd be recog- 
nized wherever I show my face, I said, 
"I sort of hate to see this go through." 
I would, too. I've always envied Amos 
and Andy who, aces that they are on 
the air, live like private citizens be- 
cause, out of blackface, few people 
recognize them. 

We like to live like private citizens, 
Vickii and I. We like the way our day 
goes, pretty much hand in hand. . . . 

Late risers — we seldom get to bed 
before one o'clock — our alarm goes off 
at ten. We get breakfast together. Then 
I listen to recordings of last night's 
program, try to glean improvement 
ideas therefrom. Most days Vickii sup- 
plies lunch; some days I have it with 
Bill Brennan, the show's producer, or 
an agency representative. About two- 
thirty I'm over at CBS answering per- 
sonal mail. It is Vickii, by the way, 
who reads all the fan mail and lists the 
requests that help me make my final 
selection of songs for future programs. 
In the rating season, this mail may run 
to seven or eight hundred letters a 
week. 

REHEARSALS start at four, in gen- 
eral — at three, if I am going over a 
duet with a future guest singer. 

Wednesdays vary somewhat from 
the other days. After breakfast Bill 
Brennan comes over and we work on 
shows for the coming two weeks. Wed- 
nesday nights after the program, we 
meet with all the song publishers in 
town, listen to the new songs, get a 
backlog of material to go into future 
broadcasts. This is careful work, be- 
cause you can't always tell about a song 
right off. First time you hear a song, 
you may not even notice it; the fifth 
time you might catch yourself trying 
to remember the name of that tune. 

We have dinner at home, shortly aft- 
er eight, or as soon as I can get home 
after my evening show. Vickii, main- 
taining that she hates" to see a wife 
"tagging along," never goes to CBS 
with me. She says, too, that she gets 
a better perspective on the show if she 
listens to it quietly, alone, at home. A 
great help to me, she also listens to 
others shows — Sinatra, Perry Como, 
Dick Haymes — and tells me what's go- 
ing on. We have no maid; Vickii does 
all the cooking, so dinner at home is, 
cosily, just the two of us. We usually 
eat out four nights a week but are 
partial (or I am) to the three nights in. 
We can't go to the theater, my schedule 
being what it is but, on Sunday nights, 
we often have a quick dinner and catch 
a double bill at a neighborhood movie. 
Occasionally, we can lunch together at 
The Stork, Twenty-one, wherever and, 
in spare time, Vickii goes shopping 
with me. She, of the two of us, has 
the tasty taste. That's why I take her 
along with me while she, knowing I 
can't help her, doesn't take me. I am 
very fortunate, I might add, in that my 
wife makes all her own clothes. One 
of her ambitions was, and is, to be a 
dress designer and one of my ambitions 
is to have a dress shop for her where 
she can successfully play that role. 

The luckiest thing in all my lucky 
life is that Victoria Stuart and I, 
Jack Smith, were born on the same day. 



lack of honest sex education and from 
a fear which grows out of that lack of 
knowledge about the functions of the 
human body and mind. The blame for 
infidelity is most often placed on 
women. 

Viewed shallowly, this may be true in 
the most immediate sense. It may be 
true that a normally passionate man 
will find his wife cold, retiring, repuls- 
ing his advances and to all intents and 
purposes completely without any desire 
for him. A man like that may find 
himself practically driven into the arms 
of other women. 

Cold, unresponsive women are very 
frequent. Their behavior is known as 
frigidity. A frigid woman is a woman 
who needs to go to a doctor, perhaps 
even a psychiatrist, to find out what 
made her that way. Because frigidity 
is not normal — or healthy. 

Frigidity is usually a symptom of 
some deep-lying fear. It may be a fear 
of pregnancy, a fear due to immaturity 
and the refusal to accept the respon- 
sibility of having children, or fear due 
to plain ignorance about the process of 
childbearing. Nothing is so terrifying 
as the unknown, especially in the case 
of childbirth, about which there are 
so many idle-wife tales. Frigidity may 
also be caused by the remnants of an 
unsatisfied childish curiosity and a 
buried but strong sense of shame which 
was produced in childhood and never 
understood or overcome. All these 
fears are based on a lack of sex educa- 
tion. There may be other, more com- 
plicated reasons for frigidity. But the 
important thing to bear in mind is that 



About Marriage 

(Continued from page 19) 

frigidity can be analyzed and cured. 

It is wrong, however, to place all 
the responsibility for physical incom- 
patibility at the feet of women. Men 
are gravely at fault in this respect, too. 

Many men have a double standard 
about sex. They have women divided 
into two groups, the "good" and "bad." 

In the minds of such men, the thought 
of a free, uninhibited physical rela- 
tionship with one of the "good" girls is 
practically impossible. Yet, the "good" 



WATCH FOR 

GIN NY SIMMS 

on the cover of 
FEBRUARY RADIO MIRROR 

and a story filling in the background 
on her exciting new family life 



kind are the only kind they marry. If 
their wives approach their marital re- 
lationship openly and frankly, they be- 
come suspicious that their wives might 
not have been such "good" girls. On the 
other hand, if their wives know as little 
about sex as they do, the chances are 
that the wives become nervous, irri- 
table, unhappy and unpleasant. 

As in the case of divorces caused by 
immaturity, it seems to me that divorce 
is not the solution for people who find 



themselves physically incompatible. 
The frigid woman, or the man with the 
idea that "good" women do not enjoy, 
or want (or deserve?) a healthy, nor- 
mal outlet for their physical desires, 
is not likely to make a better, happier 
marriage with someone else. And it is 
possible for people who are not happy 
in their physical relationship to save 
their marriage. If they would go to a 
doctor, eliminate all the real physical 
possibilities for their incompatibility 
and learn from their doctor, in a frank 
and scientific way, the importance of a 
healthy sex life and what constitutes 
such a healthy sex life, many marriages 
could be saved. 

Of course, infidelity is a blow against 
the vanity and love of the other partner 
in a marriage. But, if it were under- 
stood to be only a symptom of some un- 
derlying disturbance, a great deal of 
unhappiness and failure could be 
avoided. The wife of the unfaithful 
man, the husband of the frigid woman, 
the wife of the unsatisfactory physical 
partner, the husband who discovers that 
his wife has been seeking satisfaction 
elsewhere, all owe it to themselves, to 
their marriage and through their mar- 
riage to society, to make every effort 
to find out what caused the infidelity. 

Any two people who have been drawn 
together so strongly that they took the 
step of getting married, should feel the 
responsibility to help one another solve 
the problem of physical incompatibil- 
ity, just as they would feel the respon- 
sibility to help one another in any 
problem which might face them in the 
course of their daily living together. 




ours 

jor a JZafipi/ 




Philip Morris 

America's jFin est Cigarette 

ALWAYS BETTER.... BETTER ALL WAYS 




R 

M 

57 



A Thousand Good Wishes 



R 
M 

58 



a nod may find themselves in eager 
conversation. But if friendliness isn't 
in the nature of the street — right in its 
life — the warmth won't last. When the 
emergency is over, the doors close. 

That was why Hester Street was such 
a wonderful place! Its mood was al- 
together different; nothing was stiff and 
forbidding, everything was friendly and 
shared. Everything, Naomi mused, was 
sort of small-sized, so that nobody and 
nothing on it could possibly scare any- 
one. 

"You're getting sentimental!" Naomi 
told herself sternly, but still she had 
that wistful urge to share her thoughts. 
Did anyone else — Carlotta, for instance 
— look upon Hester Street almost as 
though it were a person, with a whole 
entity of its own? Did others feel that 
nobody who came there could be an 
outsider for long — that, if the stranger 
were willing to open his door, the street 
would open its own? She sighed, shook 
herself mentally, and tried to pay at- 
tention to what Carlotta was saying. 

"... toothpaste, Mr. Simmons. And 
— oh yes — a new lipstick. Bright red." 

"Didn't you get that for Christmas?" 
Naomi questioned. 

CARLOTTA looked guilty, "Well, I did. 
But," she added firmly, "I buy a lip- 
stick the way some women buy hats — 
to give my morale a lift. Not that I 
use them so often, but my budget 
doesn't run to extravagant hats and 
once in a while I just have to splurge! 
Makes me feel brave." 

Naomi squeezed her arm affection- 
ately. "As if you needed anything to 
make you brave!" Then she changed 
the subject. "How about some hot 
chocolate at the counter?" 

They seated themselves at the foun- 
tain stools while Mr. Simmons was 
wrapping up their purchases, and gave 
their orders to his sixteen-year-old 
helper. 

Naomi found herself looking again 
to the blustery sidewalks outside. When 
she saw Carlotta smilingly watching, 
she confessed, "This time of year, espe- 
cially today, always makes me feel 
more than usually sentimental about 
Hester Street. And about people," 
Carlotta understood; her nod was an 
invitation to go on. "Hester Street's 
nickname . . . the street of dreams . . . 
is so appropriate just now. A New Year 
on its way and I find myself looking 
hopefully at everyone who passes here, 
everyone we meet on the street, every- 
one who comes to the Foundation — all 
of them with their own special dream 
that they are sure will come true in the 
next year. I feel so confident they will 
come true and all the disappointments 
of the old year will just dissolve in a 
bubble of hope." 

Carlotta echoed, thoughtfully, "... 
the street of dreams ..." 

"Dreams!" The voice behind the two 
women was angry and hurt and young. 
"Did you mean this street, Hester 
Street? How can anyone have any right 
to dream or hope on a crowded, miser- 
able street like this?" 

They turned simultaneously, wheel- 
ing to face the speaker. They saw. a 
young girl, her arms loaded with pack- 
ages, her pretty face set and angry. 
But just as Carlotta would have spoken, 
the girl's face turned from anger to 
embarrassment and a flood of pink 
surged up into her cheeks. 

"Oh! I am sorry! I shouldn't have 



{Continued from page 21) 

broken" in on you that way. I spoke 
before I thought. You see, I was hating 
Hester Street so much when you spoke 
and when I overheard your remarks — 
well — " 

Both Carlotta and Naomi smiled 
comfortingly before the girl's confu- 
sion. "Won't you have something with 
us, Mrs.? — " 

"Mrs. Jack Hewlett." Shyly the girl 
placed her parcels on the counter and 
climbed onto the stool. "We just 
moved here two weeks ago and I don't 
know anyone as yet." 

The other two exchanged glances of 
sympathy. "We'll have to remedy that 
right away," Naomi told her. "I'm 
Naomi Daniels and this is Carlotta La- 
gorra. On Hester Street everyone 
knows everyone else and I'm sorry 
we didn't find you before. But — tell 
me — why do you dislike Hester Street 
so much?" 

There was a little pause before Mrs. 
Hewlett spoke. Her hands kept 
smoothing the woolen gloves she had 
taken off. "It's not just Hester Street, 
I suppose," she said at last, hesitat- 
ingly. "I guess I would hate any 
crowded city street, full of apartment 
houses and people who pass you on the 
stairs and maybe say good morning to 
you, but never really see you at all. 
Jack and I were both born in the same 
small town and we lived there up until 
now. We knew everyone. People and 
houses were permanent, you know — 
generations living in the same spot. 
Jack worked there after we were both 
out of high school and we had planned 
to be married and then he was going 
to be taken into the bank as assistant 
cashier, and then the war came." 

There was another pause. She kept 
her head lowered. "But when he came 
back from Okinawa he was different . . . 
restless. He didn't want any part of 
Ainsville." 

"So you married him and came to 
Chicago," Naomi supplied. 

"That's right. But I thought it was 
only for a little while; that it was be- 
cause he hadn't become adjusted to be- 
ing a civilian. I thought he'd go back 
and settle down in Ainsville. But he 
won't — he likes it here. And I didn't 
know it could be so lonesome without 
my folks." Her voice shook a little on 
the last words. 

"Why! — you're homesick!" Carlotta 
smiled at her. 



"But that's one sickness people dc 
recover from," Naomi added. "Espe- 
cially when they have a husband and 
a home of their own, even if it is an 
apartment on Hester Street." 

Mrs. Hewlett tried to smile back at 
them, but it was unconvincing. Her 
eyes thanked them for their attempt at 
comforting her, but it was plain that 
she didn't believe for one moment that 
they were right. 

"Poor little thing," Carlotta remarked 
to Naomi as the two of them walked 
homeward a little later. "It's not easy 
to be uprooted and torn from a family 
like hers. She doesn't believe that her 
homesickness could only be temporary. 
She's convinced she can't be happy 
here." 

Naomi nodded. "I'm more worried 
about the effect all this misery of hers 
must have on her husband ... a young 
man just back from the horrors of the 
war, wanting to make a new life for 
himself and his bride. And she just 
sopping around in tears!" 

"But homesickness can hurt! I know 
how I'd feel if I couldn't see Mary and 
David and Tony and Therese and 
father—" 

"Of course it does. But women have 
always had to adjust to new lives with 
their husbands. Her happiness and her 
responsibilities lie in her new life, not 
with her old. Women have always had 
to wrench themselves away from pa- 
rental nests — " 

"Is that a hint to me?" Carlotta asked 
with a wry smile. 

Naomi shook her head. "Your prob- 
lem is one only you can work out, 
Carlotta. You've mothered your sis- 
ters and brothers and your father so 
long, it will be hard for you to know 
when the point is reached where they 
no longer need you." 

"Well, I doubt if that point has been 
reached yet. At least, they need me 
for the New Year's party tonight. You 
haven't forgotten, have you, Naomi? 
Everyone's coming — Keith and Mari- 
lyn and some of Therese's friends 
and—" 

"No. I haven't forgotten. But are 
you sure you aren't too tired to give 
such a large party?" 

Carlotta shook her head. "It's not a 
bodily weariness. It's a mental depres- 
sion, I'm afraid. Oh, nothing serious 
. . . but the end of the old year makes 
me feel melancholy ... so much of all 



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our hoping and planning has been left 
unfinished or went awry. Christmas 
was happy, but it was like all our 
Christmases — too many sacrifices for 
the gifts we were able to afford and 
the holiday spirit lasts such a short 
time. I wonder if the Lagorras will 
ever have all the security and the ad- 
vantages I want for my family? I 
wonder if the little frictions and the 
family troubles will be solved in the 
New Year? Are there really good 
things ahead, Naomi — or is it just the 
same old struggle to just keep our 
footing in the same old place?" 

"You are discouraged, Carlotta! It's 
unusual to hear you talk like that. And 
all I can say to help is what we both 
know: that dreams do sometimes come 
true and trouble has a way of vanish- 
ing just when it seems to be the black- 
est." 

They were at the building which 
sheltered the Lagorra third-floor apart- 
ment by this time and Carlotta an- 
swered her friend only by a quick, 
grateful smile before she left her and 
hurried up the steps and into the hall- 
way. Naomi understood. Their friend- 
ship was too close to stand on formal- 
ity, and there was work to be done for 
the party tonight. 

ON the way up the worn, creaking stairs 
Carlotta tapped on a doorway. 
Sounds of music from within crashed 
abruptly to a stop. The door was flung 
open. 

"Who—? Oh, hello, Carlotta. Let 
me help you carry your packages up- 
stairs." 

"No, thank you, Keith. I just wanted 
to remind you of the party tonight." 

"I haven't forgotten." He smiled 
his own warm, peculiarly charming 
smile. "Mary has been down every 
hour, on the hour, to remind me. And 
I have a surprise of my own for to- 
night." 

The little meeting somehow cheered 
Carlotta so that she was smiling pleas- 
antly when she let herself into the neat, 
clean, though cheaply-furnished La- 
gorra flat. She handed some of her 
packages to Mary who had come bound- 
ing out to meet her, her hands full of 
crepe paper. 

"Carlotta — I thought you were never 
coming! I don't know how to decorate 
and my sandwiches are all lop-sided 
and I broke one of the cups, trying to 
polish it! Oh, do you think anyone 
will be here? This is my first New 
Year's Eve party! At least, it's the 
first one you've ever let me stay up to 
see the New Year come in." 

"And it has to be perfect, doesn't 
it?" Carlotta bent and kissed the shin- 
ing hair of her little sister, tenderly. 
"Come on. I'll show you how to hang 
the paper streamers and we'll have 
those sandwiches made in no time at 
all." 

Gay red and blue and white paper 
streamers were tacked from wall to 
wall, making a festive draped ceiling. 
Paper hats of all sizes and shapes were 
placed on the round table for distribu- 
tion to their guests; whistles and noise- 
makers were tucked in a drawer for the 
proper moment, for the twelve o'clock 
celebration. The punch was tasted and 
declared perfect. The sandwiches might 
be scorned by a caterer for their man- 
sized largeness, but Hester Street 
dwellers were not partial to the one- 
bite-and-swallow kind of tidbit. 

Even David sulkily consented to 
climb up on a chair to tack streamers 
his sisters couldn't reach. But he was 
in no party mood. 

"Oh, heck! — Carlotta — why must I 



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be here tonight? I've got plans of my 
own. A coupla guys and me were plan- 
ning to catch the midnight show at 
the Strand and — " 

"Don't let Mary hear you say that!" 
Carlotta whispered fiercely, glancing 
around at the slight figure of her young- 
er sister, busy in the kitchen. "David, 
she has her heart set on this party and 
on having the whole family and all our 
friends here. It's her first real, grown- 
up party. I don't often ask you to do 
me a favor, but I'm asking you now." 

"All right, sis. Don't get in a lather. 
I'll be here." But his nineteen-year- 
old face had darkened to a scowl and 
he shouldered his way past her and 
out the door. Just before it banged 
shut he thrust his head in again. "But 
don't expect me to be the life of the 
party, either!" 

CARLOTTA shook her head, wearily. 
The depression of the morning re- 
turned . . . and with it came an invol- 
untary memory of the unhappy little 
Mrs. Hewlett. For the next hour, as 
she worked, Carlotta couldn't get her 
out of her mind. It was no use worry- 
ing over David — he would keep his 
word and be at the party. She would 
just have to manage, somehow, to shep- 
herd him and his wisecracks away 
from their father; to hope the evening 
wouldn't be spoiled by the tension be- 
tween those two. 

But Mrs. Hewlett couldn't be dis- 
missed so easily. Homesick and miser- 
able on New Year's Eve! So far away 
from her family and too young to know 
how to adjust and make a life for her- 
self and her husband. Somehow Car- 
lotta knew that the whole evening 
would be no pleasure to her if she had 
to worry about what the Hewletts 
were doing. 

Leaving the cake frosting still in the 
bowl, she went to the telephone. 

"Naomi? Listen — would you do 
something for me? I can't get away 
from the house and I've been worrying 
about Mrs. Hewlett all afternoon. You, 
too? Then don't you think it might be 



a good idea for us to invite them to the 
party? Oh, I knew you'd feel that way, 
Naomi! And you'll stop by and ask 
her? Thanks . . . yes, David will be 
here . . . well, not too graciously . . . 
but Mary is still happy and excited 
. . . you will see Mrs. Hewlett, then . . . 
thanks again, Naomi." 

On the other end of the line, in the 
office of the Hester Street Foundation, 
Naomi Daniels thoughtfully replaced 
the receiver. It was just like Carlotta, 
she mused, with all the burdens she 
had on her hands now, to worry about 
a homesick stranger! Then she remem- 
bered, guiltily, that she herself had 
had the Hewletts preying on her .mind 
all day, too. Settling her hat firmly, 
she locked the door behind her and set 
out. 

But the closer Naomi came to the 
Hewlett apartment house and the Hew- 
lett apartment and, finally, to the 
Hewlett door, the more foolish she felt. 
Of course it was just a neighborly ges- 
ture, but suppose the young husband 
thought her a busy-bodying intruder? 
For a social service worker, Naomi 
suddenly found herself developing all 
kinds of nervous timidity. 

"Stop being so silly! They won't 
bite you." She admonished herself 
sternly and rapped on the door. 

She was unprepared for the quick 
rush of feet on the other side — the thud 
as if someone had flung herself hard 
against the door — the jerk that yanked 
it open. Naomi stepped back in sur- 
prise. 

"Jack!" this was a wail. And, then 
— "Oh. Oh. It's you! I thought — please, 
come in." Little Mrs. Hewlett retreated 
in confusion, putting her hands up in 
a feeble effort to restore some order to 
her disheveled hair — or to hide her wet, 
puffy eyes. 

The apartment was attractive, brave 
with cheap, durable flowered-chintzes 
and geraniums in pots in the windows. 
A solid row of family snapshots ranged 
the mantel; keepsakes and childish 
trinkets adorned the bookshelves. 
Naomi's eyes went to the couch. The 



R 
M 

60 



STATEMENT OF THE OWNERSHIP, MANAGEMENT, CIRCULATION, ETC.. REQUIRED BY THE 
ACTS OF CONGRESS OF AUGUST 24. 1912, AND MARCH 3. 1933. of RADIO MIRROR published 
Monthly at Duriellen, N. J., for October 1, 1946. 
State of New York I 
County of New York ) ss - 

Before me. a Notary Public, in and for the State and county aforesaid, personally appeared Meyer 
Dworkin, who. having been duly sworn according to law, deposes and says that he is the Secretary of 
RADIO MIRROR and that the following is, to the best of his knowledge and belief, a true statement 
of the ownership, management (and if a daily paper, the circulation), etc.. of the aforesaid publication for 
the date shown in the above caption, required by the Act of August 24, 1912, as amended by the Act of 
March 3, 1933, embodied in section 537, Postal Laws and Regulations, printed on the reverse of this form, 
to wit: 

1 That the names and addresses of the publisher, editor, managing editor, and business manager are: 
Publisher, Macfadden Publications, Inc., 205 East 42nd Street, New York 17. N. Y. ; Editor Fred R. Sammis. 
205 East 42nd Street, New York 17, N. Y. ; Managing Editor, Doris McFerran, 205 East 42nd Street, New York 
17. N. Y. ; Secretary, Meyer Dworkin. 205 East 42nd Street, New York 17. N. Y. 

2. That the owner is: (If owned by a corporation, its name and address must be stated and also im- 
mediately thereunder the names and addresses of stockholders owning or holding one per cent or more 
of total amount of stock. If not owned by a corporation the names and addresses of the individual owners 
must be given. If owned by a firm, company, or other unincorporated concern, its name and address, 
as well as those of each individual member, must be given.) Macfadden Publications. Inc.. 205 East 42nd 
Street. New York 17. N. Y Stockholders owning or holding one per cent or more of total amount of stock 
in Macfadden Publications, Inc. : Orr J. Elder, 276 Harrison Street, East Orange. N. J. ; Henry Lieferant. 54 
Riverside Drive. New York, N. Y. ; (Mrs.) Elizabeth Machlin, 299 Park Avenue. New York, N. Y. ; (Mrs.) 
Margaret Machlin. Beaver Dam Road, Stratford. Conn.; Arnold A. Schwartz, c/o A. A. Whitford, Inc.. 705 
Park Avenue, Plainlield, N. J. ; Charles H. Shattuck, 221 N. La Salle Street. Chicago, 111. : Harold Wise. 
11 Mamaroneck Road. Scarsdale, N. Y. : King & Co., c/o City Bank Farmers Trust Co., 22 William Street, 
New York 15, N. Y. : Carl M. Loeb, Rhodes & Co., 61 Broadway, New York, N. Y. 

3. That the known bondholders, mortgagees and other security holders owning or holding 1 per cent 
or more of total amount of bonds, mortgages, or other securities are (If there are none so state.): Orr J. 
Elder, 276 Harrison Street, East Orange, N. J. ; Mary Macfadden, 406 E. Linden Avenue, Englewood. N. J. ; 
Charles Mendel. 720 West End Avenue, New York 25. N. Y. ; Carroll Rheinstrom, 300 Park Avenue. New 
York, N. Y. ; Charles H. Shattuck, 221 N. La Salle Street, Chicago. 111. City Bank Farmers Trust Company, 
et al, 22 William Street, New York 15, N. Y.. as Trustees for: Mary Macfadden, Beulah Macfadden. Berwyn 
Macfadden. Brewster Macfadden, Braunda Macfadden, Helen Wiegers, Byrnece Mackerman, Beverly Hebert. 

4. That the two paragraphs next above, giving the names of the owners, stockholders, and security 
holders, if any, contain not only the list of stockholders and security holders as they appear upon the 
books of the company but also, in cases where the stockholder or security holder appears upon the books 
of the company as trustee or in any other fiduciary relation, the name of the person or corporation for 
whom such trustee is acting, is given; also that the said two paragraphs contain statements embracing 
affiant's full knowledge and belief as to the circumstances and conditions under which stockholders and 
security holders who do not appear upon the books of the company as trustees, hold stock and securities 
in a capacity other than that of a bona fide owner; and this affianthas no reason to believe that any other 
person, association, or corporation has any interest direct or indirect in the said stock, bonds, or 
other securities than as so stated by him. 

5. That the average number of copies of each issue of this publication sold or distributed, through the 
mails or otherwise, to paid subscribers during the twelve months preceding the date shown above is (This 
information is required from daily publications only). 

(Signed) MEYER DWORKIN. 
Sworn to and subscribed before me this 25th day of September, 1946. 

(SEAL) TULLIO MUCELLI, 

Notary Public. Bronx County, No. 137, 
Register No. 90M8. Certificate filed in 
N. Y. County No. 284, Register No. 
317M8. Commission expires March 30th, 
1948. 



pillows were dented from the imprint 
of a body — as if someone had flung 
herself heedlessly onto them — and were 
sodden and damp. Naomi looked back 
at the girl. 

"Yes." Mrs. Hewlett half-sobbed, 
half-spoke. "I've been crying — I have 
good reason to cry!" But somehow the 
effect of the defiance was lessened by 
the pathetic way she dabbed at her 
eyes with a tiny ball of a handkerchief 
— and Naomi remembered her frantic 
"Jack!" at the door. 

Naomi seated herself on the couch 
and patted the pillow beside her. 
"Come and sit down and tell me about 
it. I hear all kinds of troubles, you 
know, at the Foundation. Please think 
of me as a friend, just like you had 
back home." 

Her friendly gesture was too much, 
or maybe it was the mention of home. 
The little bride threw herself down on 
the couch and buried her head on Nao- 
mi's shoulder. 

"He left me!— Jack left me!" She 
was crying without restraint now. "He 
walked out and slammed the door and 
he said I wasn't to wait up for him; 
he'd do his New Year celebrating some 
place else — where he was wanted. We 
— we quarreled, Miss Daniels!" 

"Who was in the wrong? And call 
me 'Naomi,' please." 

THE girl threw back her curly head and 
straightened up, though the tears 
still rolled down her cheeks. "He was 
wrong, Naomi — but I love him and I 
don't want to quarrel with him! He 
wanted us to go out to some cafe and 
then go somewhere, somewhere where 
there were people, he said. He wanted 
noise and laughter and gaiety! What 
would that mean to us? — to be with 
a lot of strangers, pretending we were 
having fun? I wanted to stay home 
and just before midnight we could call 
our families and talk long-distance to 
them and it would almost seem as if 
we were home, too. We don't have 
much money to spend and I wanted 
to spend it like that, the way New 
Year's should be spent— with your 
family. But Jack — " 

"Jack wanted some excitement. Can 
you blame him, really? Look, dear. 
He works hard all week and he was 
probably looking forward to the two 
of you having some fun tonight. Al- 
though, I will admit — a cafe — " Naomi 
saw the tears welling up again in the 
girl's eyes and she hastily changed 
the subject. "Don't cry. And I'm not 
going to let you stay here by yourself 
and just wait and listen for that door- 
bell. You're going to a party with me. 
We'll leave a note for Jack and tell him 
where the Lagorras live." 

"Go to a party!" The girl's voice was 
outraged. "After what I've just told 
you? What would I be doing with a lot 
of strangers — " her head went down on 
her knees and her shoulders shook with 
sobs — "I want Jack! I want my own 
family!" 

If Naomi was impatient, her tone did 
not betray her. It was soothing and 
gentle. "How else, Ruth, do people 
become friends, if you won't go out of 
your way to meet them? Everybody is 
a stranger to you, at first. If you stay 
here and mope — if you meet Jack at 
the door when he comes home, with 
tears and reproaches, the rift between 
you is going to get deeper and deeper. 
And you love your husband. I know 
that. Maybe tomorrow will be a much 
brighter day for both of you, if he finds 
that you had enough courage tonight 
to go out and try to make new friends 
for yourself." Then, as the curly head 



was still bent and unresponsive, Naomi 
changed her plea. "If you won't do it 
for yourself or for Jack, will you do 
it for me? My whole New Year's Eve 
will be spoiled if I have to remember 
you sitting here in a darkened room, 
crying." 

Ruth Hewlett still protested but 
Naomi wouldn't listen. She knew that 
the girl would cry herself sick or into 
hysterics and — worse still — work her- 
self into such a state of either self-con- 
demnation or self-pity that it would be 
disastrous to this already-shaky mar- 
riage. 

She waited for Ruth to change into a 
party dress and then firmly escorted 
her over to her own rooms, to wait 
while Naomi, herself, showered and 
dressed. This was no time for the girl 
to be left alone. At the same time, it 
was not the appropriate moment for 
any discussion of her problems, so 
Naomi talked about the people Ruth 
would shortly meet at the party. 

WHEN they set out it was already dark. 
A cold, blustery wind was swirl- 
ing down Hester Street, its blasts 
echoing around the street corners and 
sending old newspapers swirling before 
them, to wrap themselves around the 
legs of pedestrians. The icy cold made 
the two women's cheeks tingle and 
their eyes smart. Bowing their heads 
and clutching their hats, they fought 
their way down the street. 

"Here we are! Whew!" The two 
flung themselves into the little warm 
hall. "One good thing, Ruth — after 
that wind we both look as though we'd 
been crying, so perhaps no one will 
notice your eyes." 

"I hope not, but they do get so puffy." 
From Ruth's voice, the older woman 
could tell that she was not quite in 
such depths of despair. "Naomi, are 
you sure they want me? Are you sure 
they won't mind a perfect stranger 
coming to their party — and such a 
gloomy one, too? I think I'd better go 
home. I honestly don't feel in a party 
mood. I'd rather, Naomi." 

Naomi didn't even pause in her 
climbing of the stairs. "Not for one 
minute, Ruth. You're coming with me 
and you're going to have a good time 
. . . you'll see." 

They had barely reached the third- 
floor landing when the Lagorra door 
was opened wide. 

"Buon Capo d'Anno! Happy New 
Year! It is our good friend, Naomi 
Daniels! Enter — enter!" Old Italo La- 
gorra was beaming with quiet and 
dignified pleasure as he held the door 
open for the two women. 

"Thank you and a Happy New Year 
to you, too, Mr. Lagorra. I can't say it 
as you did — Buon Capo — May I pre- 
sent Mrs. Ruth Hewlett? Carlotta and 
I met her this morning and she was 
kind enough to come with me tonight." 

The old shoemaker bowed slightly. 
"It will brighten my whole house to 
have you present, Mrs. Hewlett. This 
is a time for old friends and for the 
new friends, is not so? I am grateful 
you all come together this night under 
my roof." 

As they went in, Naomi stole a look 
at Ruth's face. Already, it was begin- 
ning to glow with the anticipation of 
friendliness and acceptance — nobody 
could resist Italo, or doubt that when 
he said "welcome" he meant it with his 
whole kindly heart. 

Catching Naomi's glance, Ruth smiled. 
"He is sweet," she whispered, with re- 
lief; then Carlotta was welcoming them. 
"Hello, Miss Lagorra. It was kind of 
you to ask me tonight." 



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"Call her 'Carlotta,' " Naomi ordered. 
"And this is Mary Lagorra and Therese 
Lagorra and Mrs. Murr.ay — Marilyn — 
and — Keith! — come here, I want you to 
meet a new neighbor on Hester Street 
. . . Mrs. Jack Hewlett." 

Everyone was so kind. The tall, 
good-looking one they called Keith 
took her arm and piloted her around 
the room, finishing the introductions, 
and his friendliness put her even more 
at ease. If the other guests or the hosts 
noticed her red-rimmed, tear-streaked 
eyes, they were careful not to mention 
them. Instead there seemed to be an 
added warmth to the' party, a shelter- 
ing, extra attention that warmed her 
sore and timorous nerves. 

The door was flung open again. 

"Mille Agurii; Mille Agurii, Father!" 

"IH, Tony, you remember! You re- 
/Imember the little saying I taught you 
in the language of my homeland!" And 
turning to the others, pleasure written 
large on his face, Italo explained, "It 
means a thousand best wishes and you 
must say it twice. Then I answer 
'mille agurii!' So it was in Italy on all 
special holidays." 

"Yeah — and here it's 'mud in your 
eye!' " 

"Always the wisecracks, David! 
Never can you be a proper son to your 
father and let him be happy for even 
a moment." Italo turned in angry sor- 
row on his younger son. 

It was an awkward moment. 

Then help came from an unexpected 
source. "David, you remind me of my 
brother, Jimmie. Don't you worry, Mr. 
Lagorra. I found out they wisecrack 
only because they're afraid to be senti- 
mental. They're afraid of being 
mushy." Ruth Hewlett had stepped 
into the breach and, with her hand on 
David's arm, she led him away. 

The family and guests held their 
breath. It was quite within probability 
that David would wrench his hand 
away and be rude to her. 

But, to their amazement, he went 
docilely. Maybe it was her own youth 
— maybe it was her assurance of her 
experience with her own younger 
brother — but she certainly had the up- 
per hand, and when they stopped at 
the punch bowl he even had the man- 
ners or was so bewitched that he of- 
fered her a glass! It's nothing short of 
magic! Carlotta thought, surprised. 
Ordinarily David would have nothing 
to do with her friends, or was so un- 
pleasant they soon left him alone. 



But Ruth had a way with her. There 
had been no barb in what she had said 
and no adult superiority in the way she 
had intervened between father and son. 
Now she was laughing with David as 
they stood together, and listening with 
interest when he talked. 

Carlotta could overhear a snatch of 
the conversation. 

". . . treat me like a kid. They don't 
realize I'm grown-up — " 

"I know. But look at me, David — 
I'm only a year older than you. The 
trick is to act older, to take on a little 
responsibility that they don't expect. 
It gives them a shock — " she giggled 
with him — "but it works. You'll soon 
find your family accepting the fact that 
you're grown up. But don't take them 
for granted, David. It's only when 
you're away from them, like I am, 
that you find out how much they mean 
to you." 

"Why? You've got your husband 
with you, haven't you?" 

There seemed to be a pause, or else 
Carlotta couldn't hear the words. But 
she saw Ruth's downcast look and the 
tightening of her lips that meant she 
was holding back tears. 

"Yes — Jack is here — " 

Then Marilyn and Keith crowded in 
on Carlotta and she heard no more. 
The party was taking shape nicely and 
ev.eryone seemed to be having a good 
time. Naomi was everywhere, and her 
quiet smile and her lovely, gracious 
poise managed to strike just the right 
note with all these people of different 
ages — a note of happy, joyful anticipa- 
tion. Therese's girl-friends forgot their 
usual corner huddles to whisper over 
boy-friends and hair-dos, but instead 
let themselves be drawn into the gen- 
eral fun . . . even into the word games 
they might ordinarily have yawned 
over. Under Naomi's influence Marilyn 
let go, for the moment, her deep inner 
sorrow over the death of her husband, 
and her cheeks shone with gentle ex- 
citement. 

"How do you do it?" Keith whispered 
to Naomi. "What is the secret you 
have of making everyone feel wanted 
and admired and happy?" 

"I guess my experience as a social 
service worker," she offered, laughing. 

"No. I think it's your experience as 
a warm and genuine person. It's your 
training in friendship." 

His words lit a warm glow in her 
heart. The past year's struggles with 
other people's problems; her work in 
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full of disappointments and frustra- 
tions — all of this now seemed more 
than worthwhile. It only takes a few 
words of appreciation, she thought, and 
now her own spirits lifted to meet the 
coming of the new year. 

And now it was nearly twelve 
o'clock. Keith raised his hand for 
silence. 

"I DON'T like to interrupt such a won- 
* derful party, and I hope you don't 
think I'm being selfish. But I have a 
little surprise for you I hope you'll 
like. It's eleven forty-eight and it will 
soon be 1947. If you don't mind, I'd 
like to play for you a little piece I 
made up especially for tonight and for 
this party." 

"Oh, Keith, what a lovely thing to 
have done for us!" Carlotta was over- 
whelmed. Mary clapped in delight and 
the others joined in. 

"It is a so-great honor," Italo ex- 
claimed. He led the way to the tiny, 
battered piano and the guests all fol- 
lowed to stand in a near-circle. "Your 
musical composition, Mr. Keith, it has a 
name, si?" 

"Yes, Mr. Lagorra. I call it The 
Street of Dreams. I think you all know 
what I am trying to say. Marilyn, will 
you turn the pages for me?" 

He seated himself and his hands 
rippled over the keys. Then he paused. 
When he began again, the music had a 
hesitant, grudging sound, as if a 
stranger were walking down Hester 
Street for the first time, unsure of him- 
self, unwilling to be there. Then it 
grew stronger, surer. There seemed to 
be an onward march of many people, 
the bright, gleeful laughter of children 
playing, and the little, odd surprise of 
clanging bells and the blowing of 
whistles and the honking of horns, mak- 
ing a familiar, homey pattern. 

"That's the Hester Street trolley and 
the policeman's whistle." Mary was 
too excited to keep quiet. But no one 
scolded. They had all recognized the 
sounds and they, too, felt a part of 
them. 

From the beginning there had been 
the faint strains of the melody and now 
it took over — sweet, tender, hopeful — 
and its repetition wove itself into the 
hearts of the listeners. To each one 
it had its own message of dreams. On 
each face was the wonder and the 
longing. For just a little while, as 
Keith's fingers lingered over the keys, 
each one was in a dream-spell of his 
own — and who knew what whispering 
promise of better things to come was 
being pledged and forged into the 
hearts that heard that melody? 

Ruth's eyes were not the only ones 
that were wet when the music ended. 
But only hers were fixed on the door- 
way instead of on the musician. 

Naomi noticed. She slipped her arm 
through Ruth's as the last chord faded 
away. "Don't worry, dear. He'll come. 
And there's always tomorrow." 

A sigh, almost as if the circle were 
waking out of a little sleep, went round 
the room as the last note rippled and 
ended. Then David broke in. 

"It's one minute to twelve! Where's 
the buzzers and the whistles, sis?" 

His loud words were a shock; but no 
one condemned him for the abrupt 
shattering of the mood. With delicate 
understanding they all realized that 
Keith's music for them had been too 
personal for compliments or thanks. 
The moment had been intimate; it was 
right that it should snap without the 
awkward sentimentality of words to 
blur or to (Continued on page 64) 




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(Continued from, page 62) try to de- 
scribe their feelings. 

"Here you are — I'll keep the dunce 
cap!" Laughing, Carlotta distributed 
the funny paper caps and the noise- 
makers, and as she did so, she had a 
moment to silently touch Keith's hand 
in gratitude. It was surprising how 
many others found the same method of 
saying something that was too big for 
words. 

"Look at me! I'm a drum majorette! 
I'm going to lead a parade — " Mary 
pirouetted around the room in her 
high, red, stiff hat. 

"You want I should put that thing on 
my head, at my age?" But Italo was 
only joking and he placed the silly 
paper shako on his head with the air 
of a cavalier. 

"Oho! ... a clown! All I need is a 
red nose and baggy trousers!" Tony 
capered around the room and raised 
his whistle to his lips. 

"Not yet . . . listen!" 

They all paused, expectantly. Then, 
suddenly — from out the open window — 
there came a dull, booming sound. On 
its heels there rose the screaming shrill 
of a gigantic siren. And then pande- 
monium broke loose. It was twelve 
o'clock. It was 1947! 

"Happy New Year! Happy New 
Year, everybody!" 

Italo kissed his older daughter. Some- 
one grabbed little Mary and whirled 
her around in a spinning circle. Hands 
touched hands in greeting; voices 
mingled with the clatter of buzzers on 
wood and the screech of whistles. It 
was the New Year! It was the world's 
hope for peace ... it was the future 
dawning for those who dwelt on Hester 
Street. 

"Yippee! Happy New Year, Ruth!" 
This from David and his clumsy, still- 
boyish hug was that of a brother to a 
sister. She saw him hug Carlotta the 
same way and rub his face in Mary's 
curls. Her heart pounded strangely — 
she had been accepted, almost, as part 
of this family group. 

A hand touched her shoulder. She 
spun around quickly. 

"Happy New Year, Ruth." 

"Oh — the same to you, Naomi." 

"You jumped when I touched you 
just then. Were you hoping it was Jack 
come to see the New Year in with you?" 

"Oh, Naomi, I've been praying all 
evening he'd come. I want to tell him 
something. I want to tell him I've 
learned my lesson. I'm not homesick 
any more, Naomi. Why, these people 
are just like my own family — they like 
me and they make me feel that I fit in, 
too. Jack's begged me to make friends 
but I wouldn't. I said that people here 
couldn't be like my own folks and, my 
own friends at home. He even sug- 
gested we go to church here and I did — 
once. But the minister didn't look or 
talk like our old Reverend Allen at 
home and I wouldn't go again." 

She hung her head. "I've been so 
selfish. Even now, thinking about home 
and remembering how my father used 
to read a chapter out of the Bible to 
us just before the whistles blew for 
the New Year — even that doesn't make 
me feel lonesome. That music Keith 
played, it was almost like a prayer for 
all of us." 

Naomi nodded, and dodged a dancing 
couple who were doing a joyful, if in- 
expert heel-and-toe polka around the 
room. She drew the other girl aside. 

"Did you ever read the story of Ruth 
in the Old Testament, dear? Do you 
remember how she had to make a 
choice after her husband died? She 
had left her family and her homeland 



to be with him and now she had to 
decide whether she wanted to return 
to her own home. But she said to her 
mother-in-law: ' . . . whither thou 
goest, I will go; and where thou 
lodgest, I will lodge; thy people shall 
be my people — '." 

The little bride echoed, softly, 
'■'. . . whither thou goest . . ." There was 
a new strength and purpose in her 
soft young face. 

"That Ruth knew it was seldom wise 
to go back. We must go forward. We 
must take our lives where we find them 
and work out our destinies there. It is 
fear that makes us run back to some- 
thing safe and remembered, but when 
we do, we usually find we have out- 
grown it." 

"I KNOW. You were right and so was 
1 Jack. All I could think about was my 
own unhappiness. If I had thought 
about other people, it might have been 
like tonight — helping David I forgot 
myself and I had such a wonderful 
time!" A sudden thought struck her. 
"Did you realize that the mother-in- 
law in the Bible story was called 
Naomi? Not that you are old enough 
to be my mother." 

"I'm very happy if I was able to 
give you the same kind of advice I 
know your own mother would have 
given you, Ruth." 

"You did. She would have been so 
ashamed of me. She made a home for 
my father when — Naomi — listen!" 

Someone was knocking on the door; 
and when Italo opened it, they saw a 
stranger — a young man with truculent 
wariness and suspicion in his eyes. A 
young man whose tie was twisted and 
whose hat was pushed far back on his 
head in a defiant gesture. He said noth- 
ing in response to Italo's greeting, but 
his eyes swept the room. 

But he was no stranger to Ruth. With 
one glad cry she ran to the doorway 
and threw herself into his arms. 

Naomi was too far away to hear what 
they were saying. But not too far to 
watch their expressions. 

And she saw the truculence and the 
stiffness in Jack Hewlett's eyes gradu- 
ally fade. She saw Ruth's lips move 
as she whispered to him. Almost, Na- 
omi could tell what the girl was saying 
by her actions . . . her shame-faced 
apology, her plea for. understanding, 
the promise in her eyes. And then the 
whole party — who had been politely 
pretending to ignore the little scene — 
saw the strange young man sweep the 
girl off her feet and hug her tight, his 
face shining with happiness. 

They walked into the room, still hold- 
ing tight to each other, and now Naomi 
could not help overhearing their words. 

". . . and I'm so sorry, Jack, that be- 
cause of me we missed our first New 
Year's party together. We didn't get 
to see the old year out — our very first 
year of marriage." 

He looked down at her and grinned. 
"I like it that way, Ruthie. We didn't 
make much of a real marriage in the 
old year, anyway. I'm glad we didn't 
have to look at each other while it 
went. It's the new year for us, darling. 
We don't have to look back at our 
mistakes — we can look forward to 
starting all over again." 

Naomi was not only listening, but 
unashamedly watching. She rejoiced 
in the change that speech had made 
in Ruth's face — a few hours before so 
tear-streaked and hopeless, now bril- 
liant with love and confidence and 
hope. It was a sight worth watching! 

Keith's hand on her arm, and his low, 
understanding chuckle made her turn 



quickly. "I want to say goodnight, 
Naomi. I'm walking home with Marilyn. 
Let me wish you once more a Happy 
New Year!" 

"Thank you, Keith. Goodnight and 
best wishes, Marilyn. I'm leaving, too, 
Carlotta. It's been a wonderful party 
. . . the best." 

"Goodnight! Happy New Year! Re- 
member to make your resolutions 
tomorrow!" It was well past midnight 
now and the guests were slowly leav- 
ing. The Hewletts approached their 
host. 

"I want to thank you, sir, for being 
so kind to my wife. We appreciate 
your taking her in, a total stranger, 
like that." 

Italo waved their thanks away. "It 
is nothing. Is it not so that we are 
neighbors? Then how shall we be be- 
having — with the noses up in the air 
and the no-speaking? Ah, no. Better 
we should all stick together like friends 
here. And you must come again, soon." 

"We will!" Jack Hewlett was almost 
fervent. "But now we'd better be get- 
ting along to our own — " giving his 
wife a quick, tender hug — "to our own 
home." 

"Our own home," she repeated, 
firmly. 

"Goodnight!" — and then they were 
all gone. The Lagorra family was alone. 

Carlotta shooed them all off to bed, 
Mary and the rest. Even Italo's offer 
to help she refused, insisting on his 
getting the sleep he needed. 

Now the living room was quiet. > 

Quickly, deftly, she went about, 
emptying ashtrays and putting the 
apartment to order. There wasn't much 
to do; the decorations could stay up 



until the morning. But still she lin- 
gered. Somehow she felt a reluctance 
to leave the scene of the party. There 
was a need within her for this quiet 
moment with herself. 

SHE was tired, but not with the de- 
pressing fatigue of the morning — 
why? What had happened? Why did 
she feel this peace and serenity and 
happiness that made her steps light 
and kept her eyes glowing? Had it just 
been the gaiety of the evening? 

It was more than that. It was like 
Keith's music that bubbled and sang 
and made them laugh with its gentle 
caricature of Hester Street and the 
people who lived there. But under- 
neath the frivolity there was the strong, 
sweet, hopeful melody of the hearts of 
all of them. And, she realized slowly, 
the whole evening had been like that 
— a promise of dreams coming true . . . 
for herself in the growth and security 
of the Lagorras . . . for Italo in the 
sight of his strong sons and gentle 
daughters . . . for Mary who brought 
joy to everyone, to whom everyone 
was kind ... to David who had curbed 
for one evening his unruly, resentful 
teen-age tongue and had, in that slight 
measure, grown up. 

And for the gentle, lovely Naomi who 
had seen a little ripening of the fruits 
of her long work for the people of the 
community. For the young Hewletts 
in their new understanding of each 
other. For Keith, who had brought the 
gift of his music to them. For Marilyn 
Murray who was learning that time 
does heal the greatest of sorrows. 

For all of them, new courage for 
their lives on the "street of dreams." 



We Broke the Bank 

(Continued from page 23) 



minute. So we'd inherited them and, to 
us, the evening was going to be just 
another in the succession of good times 
we'd been having the past two months. 
You see, we'd only been married for 
two months. I was about to be dis- 
charged from the Navy, and we'd had 
our honeymoon and were just sort of 
hanging around New York having fun 
until my final papers came through and 
we could leave for my home in Chicago. 
Everything was all set for me to resume 
my practice as an Ear, Nose and Throat 
surgeon, my office was waiting for me, 
and we were pretty sure we could find 
an apartment hotel or something to 
provide a roof for our heads. So we had 
nothing to worry about, and only good 
things to look forward to. 

OUR honeymoon had been pretty spe- 
cial. After all, we'd been waiting for 
it a long time, and we were determined 
to make the most of it. Both of us are 
well over twenty-one, so we decided 
that we'd tell everyone we'd been mar- 
ried at least two years. That would be 
so we could avoid the usual jokes about 
honeymooners and newly-weds. We 
didn't want' to have to bother with 
other people at all — even so much as 
pretending to laugh at their jokes. We 
just wanted to be by ourselves. It 
worked out the way we'd planned it, 
too. We pretended we were an old 
married couple, and nobody paid any 
attention to us. So Edith and I have 
decided that from now on, that's going 
to be our advice to newly married 
couples — "Tell people you've been mar- 
ried for years!" 
Anyway, we were pretty gay as we 



drove up to the parking lot. But right 
there we hit a snag. "Sorry," the at- 
tendant said, "we're full up." 

I looked at Edith and she looked at 
me. It was getting late and we knew 
if we had to go looking for another 
parking lot, we'd probably miss the 
show. Edith giggled a little and whis- 
pered, "Tell him about how you've 
given the best years of your life to the 
Navy. Maybe that'll influence him." 

But I thought I had a better idea. 
"Look," I said to him, "we've got tickets 
for Break the Bank, and. it's getting 
late. ..." 

I think that's what did it — that, and 
maybe the uniform helped some, too. 
He stuck out his lower lip and thought 
about it a minute. Then he said, 
"Okay, I'll try to squeeze you in some- 
where. But you better hurry. Those 
radio shows don't wait for anybody." 

So we climbed out of the car and 
hurried to the theater. We got there 
just as the doors were closing. People 
were still standing in line, hoping that 
there might be some extra seats at the 
last minute. Anyway, we got in all 
right and settled down in our seats. 

Pretty soon Bert Parks, the Quiz 
Master, and Bud Collyer, the Master of 
Ceremonies, came out to explain to the 
audience what the show was all about, 
and began to pick out the contestants. 
Collyer came down into the audience 
and chose various people who had to 
stand up and tell Bert Parks, who was 
on the stage, what their names were 
and where they were from, and things 
like that. Sometimes they had to an- 
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right then, which encouraged everyone. 

"Now we need someone who knows 
about geography," Collyer said and, 
looking over at me, he grinned. "There's 
a Navy man — he ought to know some- 
thing about the world and the seven 
seas." 

I chuckled to myself. Most of my 
four years in the Navy had been spent 
right here in the United States, ex- 
cept for a few months in Trinidad. But 
I did know my geography, or thought 
I did. It had been one of my favorite 
subjects at school. So I stood up and 
told them my name and where I was 
from. 

"How long have you been in the 
Navy?" Collyer asked. 

And that was pretty funny, too, be- 
cause I'd just been figuring it out that 
afternoon. "Four years, three weeks, 
and one day," I told him. The audi- 
ence roared, and I could hear a muffled 
explosion of laughter from Edith. Col- 
lyer kept a perfectly straight face, and 
asked, "How many hours?" 

"I could probably figure that out, too, 
with a little more time," I told him, and 
then he did laugh. 

"Is the young lady with you your 
wife?" he asked. 

"She certainly is," I replied, and 
then added, as Edith nudged me, "we've 
been married for two years." 

For some reason or other, that seemed 
to please the audience, because there 
was a spattering of applause and a lot 
of good-natured laughing. 

"Would you like to be a contestant 
on this program?" was the next ques- 
tion. 

"Yes, I'd like to, very much," I heard 
myself answering. 

"And your wife, too," Collyer went 
on. "You can help each other with the 
answers." 

Edith tugged frantically at my coat 
sleeve, but I grabbed her hand and we 
started up the aisle to the stage. 

A LOT of things went through my mind 
on that short trip to the stage. All my 
life, it seems, I'd been listening to quiz 
shows over the air. My nephew always 
used to tease me about it — calling me 
"Uncle Information Please." I thought 
about him now, and wasn't sure 
whether I hoped he'd be listening to- 
night or not! 

Edith's hands were shaking just a 
little, as I helped her into her chair up 
on the stage, so I leaned over and whis- 
pered to her, "What are you worried 
about? It's their money we're going 
to be playing with, not ours." 

Before we knew it, we were both up 
there in front of the microphone and 
Bert Parks was asking us our first ques- 
tion. "Books of maps of the world are 
named after a mythical giant who car- 
ried the world on his shoulders. What 
was his name?" 

Without even thinking, I heard my 
voice giving the answer: "Atlas." 

"Correct," he said. "That's worth ten 
dollars. Now for twenty . . . Off the 
southern tip of Florida is a group of 
islands which belong to the State of 
Florida. What are they called?" 

Well, even though I've never been 
there, I knew that one. "The Florida 
Keys," I told him. 

"Well, that's twenty dollars. Now for 
fifty. On what Continent is the Sahara 
Desert?" 

I almost smiled at that. Anybody 
could answer that question. "Africa." 

"Good," he grinned at me. "That's 
fifty bucks in the paymaster's book. 
Now, the next question is worth ex- 
actly twice as much. And be careful — 
I it's a little different. I'm going to ask 



you something, and then the orchestra 
will play a song. The clue to the an- 
swer is in the title of the song. Here's 
the question: If you broke the bank 
tonight, you could go on a world cruise 
and might want to book passage on this 
luxury liner. What is the name of the 
liner?" 

THE orchestra began to play, and I 
thought, "Oh — oh, here's where I bow 
out gracefully." Because, although the 
tune was remotely familiar, I didn't 
have any idea what its title might be. 
Music isn't one of my strong points. I 
shrugged my shoulders and smiled rue- 
fully at Bert Parks. Just as I was about 
to admit that I didn't know the song I 
heard Edith saying in a small voice, 
"Why, that's 'Mary, Mary, Quite Con- 
trary'." 

I could have hugged her, right there 
in front of everyone. "The Queen 
Mary!" I almost shouted into the mike. 
Bert gave an exaggerated sigh of re- 
lief. "That's what I call having a smart 
wife," he said. "She's just saved that 
hundred dollars for you and given you 
a chance at the two hundred dollar 
question. Here it is: Many islands in 
the West Indies fly the flag of European 
nations. Tell us to what European coun- 
try the following belong. You must 
get two out of three. The first is — 
Martinique." 

"I believe that belongs to France," I 
said. "Correct," said Bert, "and how 
about— Trinidad?" 

Well, after all, I'd been stationed in 
Trinidad — I knew that one cold. "Great 
Britain," I told him. 

"Right," he said, "that's the two you 
need. But just for fun, try the third 
one — Curacao." 

"I'd say— Holland." 
"And you'd be right! Now, for three 
hundred dollars, here's a tough one: 
The country of Panama is bordered on 
the north by Costa Rica. Only one 
other country borders Panama. What 
is its name?" 

I thought for a minute. What had that 
old map in my geography book looked 
like, anyway? Then I could see it in 
my mind's eye, and the answer came 
out automatically, "Colombia!" 

"Right!" said Bert, and a note of ex- 
citement was beginning to creep into 
his voice. "Now, the next question is 
worth five hundred dollars. Don't get 
nervous. You're not nervous, are you?" 
I hadn't really thought about it until 
then. "Not yet," I said. 

"All right. Here's the five-hundred 
dollar question: Almost everyone has 
sung or heard the stirring song, 'On the 
Road to Mandalay.' In what country 
is Mandalay?" 

I was glad, then, that I'd always read 
my newspapers. That country had been 
in the news a lot during the .war. 
"Burma," I told him. 

"Perfect!" he exclaimed. "That earns 
you five hundred dollars. And you have 
only one more question to go — it's the 
one that could break the bank." He 
turned to the girl they call "Janice, the 



Mr. DISTRICT ATTORNEY 

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with a 
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Paying Teller" — the one who gives out 
the prizes — and asked, "How much is 
the Bank worth tonight, Janice?" 

She made a quick calculation, and an- 
swered, "Five thousand, two hundred 
and twenty dollars." 

There was an excited buzz and a few 
whistles from the audience, and I sud- 
denly felt Edith's shoulder pressing 
into my arm. It was getting to be al- 
most too much for her, I guess — she was 
leaning against me for support. I gave 
her a quick wink and straightened my 
shoulders. And now I was really hop- 
ing that my little nephew was listening. 
This was something for the family to 
talk about the rest of their lives! 

"Are you ready for the Bank-break- 
ing question? The one that's worth ex- 
actly $5220?" asked Bert Parks. I 
nodded, speechless. 

"All right, here it is, nice and short — 
In what country is Lake Maracaibo?" 

There was complete and utter silence 
throughout the theater, and I hesitated 
just a moment. It was a pause to allow 
me time to get over the sigh of relief 
that came up from the very bottom of 
my feet. I'd been afraid it would be 
one of those questions that only an 
"answer man" or a college professor 
would know. I could feel the corners of 
my mouth twitch and, almost without 
thinking, I blurted out — right in front 
of the microphone — "Do you want to 
congratulate me now or wait until the 
end of the program?" 

Bert's black eyebrows went up and 
his white teeth flashed. "Don't tell me 
you know the answer to that one, too?" 
he asked incredulously. 

"Sure," I said, "... Venezuela." 

"THAT'S right!" he shouted, and then 
I the audience went crazy. I've never 
heard such yelling and cheering in my 
life. I just managed to hear Edith say 
in a faint little voice, "Ohhhhh!" I 
reached for her hand and squeezed it — 
hard. 

And, as far as we were concerned, 
the program was over. Janice made 
out the check and Ed Wolf, the pro- 
ducer of the program, signed it and 
handed it to us right there on the stage. 
He told us that it was the largest single 
cash prize ever given away on a radio 
program. I wanted to tell him it was 
the largest single check I'd ever held 
in my hand, but I decided I'd done 
enough talking for one night! 

Of course, that wasn't the end of it. 
We stayed around the studio for about 
an hour after the show was over. Tele- 
phone calls and telegrams kept com- 
ing in, and people were crowding 
around congratulating us and asking 
us how it felt to "Break the Bank." I 
honestly couldn't answer that one. I 
didn't know how I felt, and I'm sure 
Edith didn't, either. It had all hap- 



SPORT 



MAGAZINE 



and MACFADDEN PUBLICATIONS 

suggest you 
tune in 

HARRY WISMER 

over your 
ABC STATION 
Jan. I, 1947 
for broadcast of the Sugar Bowl 
game from New Orleans 



pened too quickly — too breath-takingly. 

People telephoned and telegraphed 
from all over the country. Some of 
our friends sent their telegrams collect, 
saying they were sure we'd be able to 
afford it! One telegram from Chicago, 
my home town, said the sender knew a 
Commander Jack Weiss, and wondered 
if it was the same one who'd been on 
the program that night. The only thing 
that bothered him, he said, was that the 
Commander Jack Weiss he knew had 
been married only two months — not 
two years. That made Edith laugh. She 
said if that were the only kick-back we 
were going to have for all the fibs 
we'd told about how long we'd been 
married, we were getting off easily! 

A girl who'd won a dollar bill during 
the pre-program questioning asked us 
to autograph the dollar for her. She 
said she thought it might bring her bet- 
ter luck next time. 

When we finally left the studio and 
went down to get the car, the attendant 
met us with a big smile on his face. He 
said he'd heard the program and was 
sure glad he'd let us in. Otherwise we 
might not have gotten there in time to 
break that bank. 

People had been asking us all eve- 
ning what we were going to do to 
celebrate, so when we got into the car, 
Edith and I looked at each other. "We've 
just got to do something special," I said. 

"I know," she suggested, "let's go up 
to Rumpelmeyer's and have a cham- 
pagne cocktail!" 

I stared at her for a minute, because 
Edith is a real teetotaler. And then I 
remembered that we'd just won five 
thousand dollars, and that doesn't hap- 
pen every night in the week. So up to 
Rumpelmeyer's we went, and had our 
champagne cocktails — one each! 

One funny thing happened the next 
day. We'd gone up to the Manufac- 
turers Trust Company on Fifth Avenue 
to deposit that check, which had been 
burning' a hole in my pocket all night. 
The teller remarked to the other people 
working behind the bank window that 
I was the contestant who'd broken the 
bank for five thousand dollars on the 
radio program the night before. And 
one of the men looked up and said, "I 
thought it was five thousand, two hun- 
dred and twenty dollars." I guess that 
show has plenty of listeners! 

Well, it's all over now, and things 
have gotten back to normal again. But 
every once in a while I stop to think 
about that night at the Break the Bank 
Program. All those quiz programs I'd 
listened to — I'd never heard one with- 
out wishing I were up there at the 
microphone myself. The questions al- 
ways sounded so easy (except maybe 
Information Please!). Usually, when I 
listened to the questions, I'd automati- 
cally say the answers out loud before 
the contestants got to them. But I'd 
always suspected that if I were up 
there myself, there'd be another tale 
to tell. 

It's pretty strange to have a big 
sum of money dumped into your lap 
so unexpectedly that way. Edith and 
I couldn't for the life of us think of 
anything special to spend it on. We 
thought at first we'd like to use it as a 
down payment on a house of our own, 
but everybody knows how impossible 
that is these days! So we'll probably 
stick to furnished apartments until the 
housing situation straightens out a lit- 
tle. And in the meantime, the money is 
tucked away snugly in the bank until 
something worthwhile comes along. 
Edith says we'll sleep sounder at night 
— knowing it's there! 



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;,3 



Happy Re-New Year 

(Continued from page 50) 



Sift flour once, measure into sifter 
with soda, salt and sugar. Have short- 
ening at room temperature; mix or stir 
just to soften. Sift in dry ingredients, 
add % cup milk and mix until all flour 
is dampened. Beat 2 minutes. Add 
eggs, melted chocolate, remaining milk 
and vanilla and beat 1 minute longer. 
Turn into two 9-inch layer pans which 
have been lined with paper and greased. 
Bake in 350-degree oven until done, 
about 30 minutes. Spread top and sides 
of cake with chocolate icing; make 
numerals with white icing. Note: Mix 
cake at low speed of electric mixer or 
by hand. Count only actual beating 
time, or count beating strokes, allowing 
150 full strokes per minute. Scrape 
bowl and beater often while mixing. 

Favorite Birthday Cake 

2 2 /3 cup sifted cake flour 
3 tsps. double-acting baking powder 
1 tsp. salt 
% cup shortening 
l'A cups sugar 

*Milk (See * below for amount) 
1 tsp. vanilla or grated lemon rind 
5 egg whites 
V2 cup sugar 

*With butter, margarine, or lard, use 1 cup 
milk. With vegetable or any other shortening, 
use 1 cup plus 2 tablespoons milk. 

Sift flour once, measure, add baking 
powder and salt, and sift together three 
times. Cream shortening; add 1% cups 
sugar gradually and cream together un- 
til light and fluffy. Add flour alter- 
nately with milk, a small amount at a 
time, beating after each addition until 
smooth. Add flavoring. Beat egg whites 
until foamy, add V2 cup sugar gradually, 
and continue beating only until mixture 
will hold up in soft peaks. Beat thor- 
oughly into batter. Turn into two 8- 
inch layer pans which have been lined 
on bottoms with paper, then greased. 
Bake in 350-degree oven about 30 mi- 
nutes until done. 



1 Gingerbread 
cups sifted cake flour 
tsp. soda 

tsp. double-acting baking powder 
tsp. salt 
tsp. cinnamon 
tsp. cloves 
tsp. ginger 
cup molasses 
cup water 
cup shortening 
cup sugar 
egg, unbeaten 



Sift flour once, measure, add baking 
powder, soda, salt, and spices, and sift 
again. Combine molasses and water. 

Cream shortening, add sugar gradu- 
ally, and cream together thoroughly. 
Add egg and beat well. Add dry in- 
gredients, alternately with liquid, a 
small amount at a time, beating after 
each addition until smooth. Bake in 
greased 8x8x2-inch pan in 375-degree 
even about 35 minutes, until done. Cut 
in squares. Serve warm or cold. 

Honey Nut Cake 

2 cups sifted cake flour 

2 tsps. double-acting baking powder 
V2 tsp. salt 

% cup butter or other shortening 
1/2 cup sugar 
V2 cup honey 

3 eggs 

1 cup finely cut nut meats 
1/4 cup milk 
1 tsp. vanilla 

Sift flour once, measure, add baking 
powder and salt, and sift together three 
times. Cream shortening, add sugar 
gradually, and cream thoroughly; then 



add honey in thirds, beating well after 
each addition. Add y A cup of flour and 
beat until smooth and well blended. 
Beat eggs until thick enough to pile up 
in bowl; add to cake mixture and beat 
well. Add nuts. Add remaining flour 
in thirds, alternately with milk in 
halves, beating very well after each 
addition. Add vanilla. Bake in greased 
9-inch tube pan in slow oven, 325- 
degree, 1 hour and 5 minutes, or until 
done, or in a 9x5x3-inch loaf pan 1 
hour and 25 minutes, or until done. 



2', 
1% 



IV2 



Molasses Spice Cake 

cups sifted cake flour 

tsps. double-acting baking powder 

tsp. soda 

tsp. salt 

tsps. cinnamon 

tsp. ginger 

cup sugar 

cup shortening 

*Milk (See * below for amount) 

eggs, unbeaten 

cup molasses 



*With butter, margarine, or lard use 3 ,i cup 
milk minus 2 tablespoons. With vegetable or 
any other shortening, use 3 ,i cup milk. 

Sift flour once, measure into sifter 
with baking powder, soda, salt, spices, 
and sugar. Have shortening at room 
temperature; mix or stir just to soften. 
Sift in dry ingredients; add milk and 
mix until all flour is dampened. Then 
beat 2 minutes. Add eggs and molasses 
and beat 1 minute longer. Turn into 
10xl0x2-inch pan which has been lined 
on bottom with paper, then greased. 
Bake in 350-degree oven until done, 
about 40 minutes. Serve warm, plain, 
or with apple sauce. This cake may 
also be baked in two 9-inch layer pans 
in moderate oven, 375-degrees, until 
done, about 25 minutes. Spread Easy 
Fluffy Frosting between layers and 
on top. Note: Mix cake by hand or at 
a low speed of the electric mixer. 
Count only actual beating time. Or 
count beating strokes. Allow about 
150 full strokes per minute. Scrape 
bowl and spoon often while mixing. 

Easy Fluffy Frosting 

] egg white 

Dash of salt 
V2 cup corn syrup 
¥2 cup vanilla 

Beat egg white with salt until stiff 
enough to hold up in peaks, but not 
dry. Pour syrup in fine stream over, 
egg white, beating constantly about 4 
minutes, or until frosting holds its 
shape. (Or beat about 2 l / 2 minutes at 
high speed of electric mixer.) Add 
vanilla. Makes about 2% cups frosting, 
or enough to cover tops of two 8-inch 
or 9-inch layers, top and sides of 
8x8x2-inch cake, top of 10xl0x2-inch 
cake, or 16 large cupcakes. 

Fluffy Chocolate Frosting 

Use above recipe, folding in V/ 2 
squares unsweetened chocolate, melted 
and cooled, just before spreading. 

Fluffy Honey Frosting 

Use above recipe, substituting honey 
for corn syrup. Omit vanilla. 

For double the recipe, double in- 
gredients above and proceed as di- 
rected, beating about 10 to 15 minutes, 
or until frosting holds its shape. Or 
beat about 6 minutes at high speed of 
electric mixer. Makes about 4^ cups 
frosting, or enough to cover tops and 
sides of two 9-inch layers. 



Come and Visit 
Dinah Shore 

(Continued from page 33) 

look of the place, and the feeling of 
room to move, the breathtaking view, 
the rose garden. And the little house 
was enchanting . . . redwood, inside 
and out, completely rough and ranch- 
like but homelike, inviting. The brick 
fireplace consumed an entire wall of 
the big sitting room. The little kitchen 
shone with copper pots and pans. It 
was typically Californian, yet sug- 
gestive of the stability of Connecticut, 
the hospitality of Dinah's native Ten- 
nessee. 

"But we have a house," George re- 
monstrated, "a very nice house ..." 

"But it's in town," argued Dinah, 
"and it's stuffy and crowded in town." 

"There's not nearly room enough," 
George held out. "We need at least two 
bedrooms." 

"Why?" 

"And you have to have an office." 

"Yes, but . . . " 

"And we need a bigger kitchen, and 
a dining room, and a workshop ..." 

"Why?" 

"And — we hope, someday — a nurs- 
ery." 

This should have been the clincher, 
but Dinah had given her heart. 

"You can build one," she said. "When 
we need it. Really, George," she 
pleaded, "you know you love it too." 

"Can we buy it — here — right now?" 
he asked the agent. 

THAT was too fast, but the lady did 
her best. By eleven o'clock that night 
— they had first laid eyes on the place 
at four in the afternoon — Dinah and 
George owned Five Oaks. It was a 
rugged seven hours. They didn't let the 
real estate agent out of their sight. 
They drove her back to her office, 
tapped their toes restlessly while she 
tried — in vain — to reach the owner of 
"their" land. They took her out to 
dinner. Another try on the phone 
brought no response from the owner's 
home. Dinah and George took their 
prisoner to a movie. At ten o'clock, 
the trio found their man and made the 
deal. At eleven o'clock the ink was 
drying on their check. 

"How soon," Dinah asked George as 
they drove through the dark toward 
home, "do you think we can move?" 

The Montgomerys moved to Five 
Oaks in November, into quarters which 
had the comfort — if not the luxury, 
and more charm — if not more conve- 
nience — than the city house they had 
sold without a qualm and were aban- 
doning. In the year which has elapsed 
since then they have made shift, sleep- 
ing in a "guest cottage" converted by 
George from a ramshackle building the 
original owners of Five Oaks had used 
for a barn and a garage. In a welter 
of dust and wood shavings which seep 
in from the constant construction work 
going on they have cooked in the tiny 
kitchen of . the original ranch-house, 
sat by the ■ fire at night in the un- 
changed "big room." Now, a year after 
they moved into the place, they can 
swim in their new pool, play tennis on 
their new championship court. 

The one room "bunkhouse" rapidly is 
blossoming forth into a sprawling 
ranch house which "has everything." 

Ultimately the one room will grow 
to eleven. Dinah and George are add- 
ing a big Dutch kitchen (the original 
kitchenette will become a bar), a din- 



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own- 



ing room opening" on an outdoor 
breakfast terrace, a musk room and 
den, and the master bedroom with two 
dressing rooms and two baths, all on 
the first floor. And there will be a 
second story nursery. 

"We have nothing constructive to 
offer yet," Dinah explains, "but we 
have plans." 

The nursery will be a child's suite, 
really, complete with miniature kitchen 
and bath, a sitting room with a view of 
the whole broad valley, a nurse's room 
and bath. Also on the second floor 
will be an office for Dinah's secretary. 

All of this is materializing with a 
speed which — in the present period of 
acute shortages — is nothing short of a 
miracle. 

"Nobody else could get materials, or 
workmen," Dinah brags. "But George 
did." 

That, of course, is Dinah's theme 
song. "George made it," "George did 
it," "George can do anything," are ever- 
recurrent phrases around their house. 

GEORGE made most of the furniture, 
he built the tool house and a tractor 
shed — he even made a towel rack in 
the shape of an American Eagle, may 
the Good Lord forgive him (and the 
Lord may, since he claims it was not 
meant for the center of the mantelpiece 
where Dinah displays it, but for their 
ranch shack in Montana). 

Step by step, George is turning the 
white lines on the blueprints into the 
wood and plaster and stone of the fin- 
ished structure, partly through the 
help of those of his ex-GI pals who are 
now in the building business, but large- 
ly through his own brain and muscle. 

George began, Dinah relates, by 
drawing up the plans himself. The big 
bedroom with the fireplace, two dress- 
ing rooms and two baths, was his 
idea. Dinah's idea of a kitchen, the 
cooking ell lined with copper plating, 
with two brick ovens and a charcoal 
grill was worked out by George's 
drafting pencil. 

When they got to the point of actual 
building — beginning with the conver- 
sion of the garage into a guest house 
spacious enough to be "home" over a 
period of months — George had to call 
in help. It came in the person of 
Johnny Hill, an Army friend of 
George's, who is a builder. Johnny's 
crew of carpenters, plumbers and elec- 
tricians was booked up for months in 
advance — but because George was a 
good guy, an ex-GI like themselves, 
and also because George was not above 
turning a hand on the job himself, they 
agreed to work on George's house and 
push up another job. Dinah's part of 
the lure was the chow — outdoor bar- 
becue lunches and suppers, from steak 
to watermelon, were forthcoming every 
time the work seemed to get monot- 
onous. 

"Dinah is a wonderful cook, you 
know," George will tell you, getting in 
his two cents worth of praise. 

"I have to admit it," she is quick to 
reply. "I am a very good cook. Very 
good, indeed." 

"But a foul dishwasher," adds 
George, backing up. 

The house, like Topsy, "just growed." 

First, of course, came the guest 
house — because "we gotta have a place 
to sleep." 

Then — because "we gotta have a 
place to put the cars" — a port cochere. 
(The Montgomery s, now that they're 
ranchers, have a spanking new Ford 
station wagon.) 

Third— because "we gotta have a 



place for our tools" — George's work- 
shop. There, George and Johnny Hill 
and the rest of the crew keep their sup- 
plies and equipment. There, also, 
George builds the beautiful pieces of 
furniture, early American and provin- 
cial in design, intricately modeled and 
turned (and the towel racks which 
look like eagles and the picture frames 
etched with pine trees) which will fur- 
nish the house when it is complete. 

"We got the workshop right away, 
you see," Dinah remarks, pointedly. 
"That's George's hobby. But where's 
my dark room? There isn't even a 
place in the plans for it. The base- 
ment is going to be the freeze room. 
Too cold. The barn is going to be full 
of hay. Too inflammable. The nursery 
is going to be full of babies — we hope. 
No dark room." 

Dinah considers herself — with justifi- 
cation which shows up in her negatives, 
both color film and black and white — 
a first-class photographer. She was 
never so angry as the time a national 
magazine used her photographs of her 
European USO tour with Bing Crosby 
without the credit line, "Photographs 
by Dinah Shore." She fully expected 
the first room planned for the new 
house would be a scientifically designed 
dark room — so far they have finished 
one guest house, one car port, one work- 
shop, one swimming pool, one tennis 
court, one barbecue house. (One towel 
rack — American Eagle design.) Under 
construction are the ten new rooms of 
the one-time one-room house, but not 
one of them is a dark room. Dinah — 
she pretends — is very sore. 

SOMETIMES the building progresses in 
big leaps. When Dinah left last sum- 
mer to spend five weeks in personal 
appearances in the East, nothing had 
been added to the main house but the 
basement. No workmen were engaged, 
nor material in prospect. No relief 
was in sight from a situation in which 
Dinah's priceless Meissen China was 
getting chipped, her copper kitchen 
utensils tarnished, her linens ruined, 
and her expensive theatrical evening 
gowns faded because of lack of closets. 

When she returned, the whole super- 
structure of the house was up. George 
and Johnny and his crew had really 
pushed the job. With luck and good 
weather, there should be a house to 
live in at Five Oaks before Christmas. 

Dinah hopes so. It is not that she 
minds roughing it. What does she care 
about dust and wood shavings, she says, 
when she can get up at six o'clock in 
the morning and watch the stark moun- 
tains turn red in the sunrise and feed 
Bantam hens their breakfast, and sit 
under a spreading live oak tree and 
purr while her handsome, brilliant (to 
say nothing of his being useful) hus- 
band sees to it that their paper house 
comes alive in sticks and stones. 

Dinah could stand the mess forever 
— didn't George make it? — but nobody 
else can. Including cooks, who rebel 
at the cramped quarters, laundresses, 
who object to running a washing ma- 
chine in the middle of a business office, 
and secretaries, who find it equally dis- 
turbing to have to file important let- 
ters in boxes on the floor, and type con- 
tracts on the top of the ironer. 

"I like to cook," Dinah explains, "and 
I don't mind ironing. 

"But," she adds, wistfully, "I hate to 
come indoors." 

Indoors, away from the sound of 
hammers, from the view of the moun- 
tains. Oh, let's face it: away from 
George. 



Life Can Be Beautiful 

(Continued from page 45) 



about tilling soil and raising crops. 

We were very much in love even 
though we were just kids. He was 19 
and I was 17 when we married. It was in 
the depression years and we had a hard 
go of it. We always planned for the 
day we could buy a farm of our own 
and have a home for the children we 
hoped to have. But secretly, I always 
longed to move to the city. Finally, 
after things grew worse on the farm, 
I did get my way and we moved to town 
to live. 

Life was easier for me and I was well 
satisfied but I could tell that my hus- 
band wasn't, even though he pretended 
to be. We were happy though. We 
moved west to California after the war 
broke out. My husband worked at de- 
fense work until we had saved enough 
to buy our "dream farm" and get a good 
start at farming. So we went back, 
even though I cried bitterly at the idea. 
But I had to be willing for I thought 
it might keep my dear one from being 
inducted into service. It was selfish of 
me, I know, but how could I give him 
up? That's what all wives thought, 
I guess. 

WELL, we had one busy but happy 
year on our farm and our second baby 
came during the year. It seemed we 
were completely happy. 

Then came the call for my dear one 
to leave us, for the service of his coun- 
try. His worry was not for himself 
but for me and our little boys. He 
wanted us to move back to town — if we 
sold all our livestock and chickens, 
with money they would bring and our 
allotment, we could make out while he 
was gone. 

I had never spent a night by myself 
in my life and was nervous, but I 
heard myself saying "No, I'll stay here 
on the farm and take care of every- 
thing." For I thought I should, even 
though I dreaded it like crazy. (We do 
not have electricity and are a quarter- 
mile from a neighbor.) So it was 
settled and he left us here and went 
to serve in the Navy. 

After about six weeks my husband 
got a short leave and came to see us. 
Then he was gone overseas and we 
didn't know if we would ever see each 
other again or not. War is like that; we 
all know. 

I carried on the best I could. I fed 
chickens and hogs, milked cows, 
pumped endless gallons of water. I 
managed to grow a good garden and 
we had our milk, eggs and meat so I . 
saved most of our allotment. I learned 
the value of money for once in my life. 
I was so tired at night, I could sleep. 
But there were nights when our boys 
would get sick and I'd be up at all hours 
to care for them. My nerves would 
be so taut, the least noise would scare 
me half to death. These were the times 
I remembered our God and asked his 
help, most of all. 

I took time every day to write long 
encouraging letters to my husband. I 
told him things were going fine. I got 
encouragement from all sides and that 
helped me to keep going, just doing 
things I didn't think that I could do. 

Then after two long years, our loved 
one was home again, safe and sound. 
What a happy day! That meeting I 
can't write about. Our baby was now 
a big boy of almost two and one-half 
years old and he knew "daddy" from 
the pictures we had. Our other boy 



was about nine years old by now. 

My husband told me "Darling, you 
have done even better than I dared 
hope you would and I'm very proud of 
you. Now we will sell the farm and go 
back to the city, for I can be happy any- 
where, if you are happy." I was de- 
lighted (I thought), but as I thought it 
over, I felt sad. I realized I had learned 
to love the farm and seeing things grow. 
For the first time I understood my hus- 
band's love of the farm. It was so 
peaceful and close to nature. God is 
here and He has been good to us. 

I told all of this to my husband and 
I'll never forget the love that sho'ne in 
his eyes. I had won his respect in 
every way. That was worth all it had 
cost me in hard work and loneliness. 

It won't always be easy. Farm life 
never is. We will soon get electricity 
though, and we got us a good car with 
our money. We can make a go of it. 
We are still in love after fourteen years. 

We hear people say of some folks, 
"Well, the war made a man out of him," 
and I think "Yes, and it made a woman 
out of me too." 

Yes, life can be beautiful. Life is 
beautiful, for we are together. 

Mrs. P. S. 

Just Aunt Beatrice 

Dear Papa David: 

I was married when I was seventeen 
to a fine boy. 

We had a boy the first year. When 
the baby was three his daddy passed 
away. 

I was left with no insurance, no one 
to turn to, and I was a very sick girl. 

My husband's Aunt and Uncle of- 
fered to take my son and give him a 
home and education. I was never to 
let him know I was his real mother, 
until he grew to be a man. 

I was just Aunt Beatrice and I stood 
by for years and years watching him 
grow in peace, but with a hurt in my 
heart no one shall ever know. 

But as years went by I married again 
and moved far away. We lost track of 
each other and as I got older I longed 
for this boy by my side. 

During the war I wrote a letter to the 
Uncle and he told me my boy was in 
the Navy — so I contacted the Navy only 
to find he had been wounded and was 
being sent home. I learned later that 
when he arrived home he found the 
letter I had sent the Uncle. 

The fifth day of December my phone 
rang and a voice said, "This is Chuck 
McGuire." All the breath went out of 
me. I did not know whether to laugh 
or cry. I was so shocked, after all these 
years. He said, "I believe you are my 
mother." I said yes, I was. He did not 
speak for a while, then said, "I'll be 
right out. I have two days before hav- 
ing to go to the San Diego Naval Hospi- 
tal." 

When I met him at the car we both 
cried like babies. He said he had al- 
ways loved me, and that when he had 
been wounded he dreamed I came one 
night to his bedside and held his hand. 

He spent his first Christmas with us. 
I was so proud to show him off! 

Now we have years of joy and hap- 
piness to make up for the empty ones. 

Mrs. B. F. 
Coleen's Love Story 
Dear Papa David: 

The few times I'd gone out with Bob 
I thought of him only as a serious, I 



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good-looking boy: and to him, I was 
just another of many girls. You see, 
Papa David, I'm a blonde, and the one 
with whom Bob was really in love had 
silky red hair, soft brown eyes — and 
a lovely plume of a tail! She was 
Coleen, his big Irish setter. 

Bob had no family and was perfectly 
happy with Coleen's companionship. 
She was the only "folks" he had and 
he'd taken an apartment in the suburbs 
so they could roam the hills in his 
leisure. 

One Autumn Saturday Bob took me 
on a hike. The setter ranged eagerly 
through the undergrowth, following ex- 
citing trails, and Bob swung along up 
one side of a mountain and down the 
other, extolling Coleen's merits while 
I hobbled miserably along the rocky 
trail with brambles snatching at my 
clothes and my skin. I thought to my- 
self, "This is our last date, brother! For 
a man I wanted I might compete with 
another girl, but I'll never play second 
fiddle to a setter for his affections!" 

After a few unsuccessful attempts to 
date me, Bob seemed to lose interest 
and it was two months later that he 
phoned. "I'm leaving for the army 
tomorrow, Jean," he said. 

"Best of luck, Bob," I answered, 
"whatever will you do with Coleen?" 
His voice grew husky. "She wouldn't 
be happy in a kennel, so we're going 
for one last hike this afternoon, and 
I'll be coming back alone." 

He tried to sound casual, but I sensed 
his heartbreak in parting with his pal. 
Impulsively I exclaimed, "You're doing 
no such thing! I'm keeping her until 
you get back." 

After a moment's stunned silence he 
blurted, "Gosh, Jean — that's swell!" 
The next day when Coleen and I had 
returned from seeing Bob off, she lay 
with her nose to the crack of the door, 
waiting for him. I felt sorry for her. 
"Come on," I said, "let's play!" She 
chased the ball I threw, but after I had 
broken my cranberry vase, we went 
for a walk in the park. Before many 
weeks I loved her dearly. 

We sent Bob our pictures and he 
wrote regularly. Have you ever noticed 
that some people can express them- 
selves better in writing? Bob could, 
and through his letters I grew to un- 
derstand him better and appreciate his 
depth of character. One day, as Coleen 
sat beside me and I stroked her ears, 
I told her "I love him too, Coleen, but 
you're the only woman in Bob's life!" 
She planted a wet kiss on my nose for 
that one. 

When Bob was discharged, Coleen 
and I met the train. She saw him first, 
and with a wild lurch on the leash, 
threw herself on him joyously. As I 
watched their reunion there was a lump 
in my throat. I thought, "Bob has 
Coleen, and Coleen has him, but now 
I haven't anyone!" 

When Coleen quieted down Bob 
strode over to me; I started to shake 
hands but Bob grabbed me up and 
kissed me. Right there I learned life 
can be beautiful, for he whispered, 
"Darling, I've learned to love you by 
mail, and Coleen and I both want you 
to marry me, Jean — how about it?" 

This time I didn't resent his love for 
the setter, because I love them both, 
and now life is especially beautiful for 
Bob, Mrs. Bob — that's me — and our 
setter, Coleen! 

B. J. 

The Darkest Moment 

Dear Papa David: 

I was born of a Jewish father and a 



Gentile mother. My father and mother's 
marriage disrupted two families. When 
I arrived we were still ignored. But 
my parents had such kind and gracious 
attributes, such a broad-minded atti- 
tude, that after a few years mother's 
relatives treated father and me as 
"belonging to the family." However 
for several more years I was the only 
little girl I knew of who had "relatives 
on just one side," her mamma's. 

I heard grown ups say "Her father is 
dead to his people." But I wondered — 
how can he be dead when he eats and 
sleeps and walks and talks? Who are 
his people? What a confused world 
for a little girl. 

My father and mother loved each 
other devotedly. Their love, devotion, 
their peaceful home life, and their in- 
nate kindness finally won over father's 
brothers and sisters. 

During these years of growing up I 
fought bitter battles with my school 
mates. When they called me "Christ 
killer" I ran home weeping copious 
tears for I loved the little Christ child. 
I victoriously fought for a little "whole 
Jewish boy" who because of his frail 
constitution could not defend himself, 
but who was constantly abused by 
tongue and fists of the children. 

These discriminations toward us, 
these taunts made me determined to 
excel so I concentrated on my school 
work and I achieved success in scholar- 
ship, both in grade and high school. By 
this time I had become conscious that 
there were good and bad attributes in 
all peoples and races. Some had given 
us science, others had given us litera- 
ture, art, music, inventions, ethics but 
all had contributed to a higher type of 
living. I probably could not have real- 
ized this so readily had I not been of 
mixed blood. 

I had hoped to make a certain soror- 
ity when I went to college. All the 
girls at home belonged and long before 
this I was just "one of the girls" in my 
home town. But not so at the state 
university — my name, not my features 
nor my abilities, kept me out. I was dis- 
appointed but not disheartened. Again 
I turned to study, to giving joy to 
others, forgetting selfish desires and 
satisfactions. I was fighting not with 
fists but by doing good. Within a year 
I was a member of the sorority and was 
class poet of the 1908 graduation group. 

Then my hearing became impaired. 
I was young to wear a hearing aid and 
at that time a hearing aid made one 
very conspicious. I had to convince 
myself that wearing an aid was similar 
to wearing glasses, a necessity. I had 
to compel myself not to be selfcon- 
scious. I learned that people are kind 
and considerate to those who are af- 
flicted. Many times I have been given 
a seat near the platform so that I might 
better hear the speaker. I have been 
introduced to people whom I would not 
have met had my hearing been acute. 

Conductors, porters, taxi drivers have 
been kind and gracious to me who 
otherwise might have been gruff to me 
if my hearing aid had not been noticed. 
Guides of tours have almost always put 
me at the head of the group so I might 
hear. 




ORIGINALLY 
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"MURDER AMONG FRIENDS" 
by Lange Lewis 25C 



AT YOUR NEWSSTAND 



In July 1942 my son went in the 
service. I, as all mothers felt a chill 
fear, but I told myself "You still have 
your girl and husband." On April 5, 
1943 my daughter, a nurse, enlisted in 
the army. Again fear possessed me. 
Again I said, trying to reassure' myself 
"You still have Dad." Then noon of 
April 8 I went to the door to greet a 
friend coming to lunch. Turning around 
I saw Dad dying on the davenport. 

I believe that was the darkest mo- 
ment I have ever had. All three gone. 
Where could I turn? What was be- 
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after night I asked "Why this, God?" 
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"If it be Thy will, bring my boy and 
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my prayer. 

Life can be beautiful for those who 
cultivate happiness within, who have 
tolerance and love for mankind and who 
have a faith in God. I know. 

Mrs. F. R. S. 

There's a Way 

Dear Papa David: 

I'll start back in the summer of 1937, 
when I was nine and a half years old. 
I was stricken with infantile paralysis 
and I was so ill that my doctor did not 
think I'd live a week. It left me totally 
paralyzed. I didn't look on the bright 
side of life just then. Mother asked 
me to promise her I'd never say such 
things again. I am still keeping that 
promise. 

I couldn't just sit with nothing at all 
for me to do so one day I started try- 
ing to draw and color with my mouth. 
I found I could do pretty well. The 
school children wanted to buy some of 
the little pictures I had made for the 
price of ten cents. Other people began 
wanting them. 

I had some newspaper writeups and 
when I was thirteen I was surrounded 
with greetings, packages and letters 
from many places. The one I most 
treasure is the one written on my 
birthday from our late President 
Franklin D. Roosevelt. 

I have corresponded with many peo- 
ple. I started painting with oil when 
I was fourteen. I make quite a bit of 
pin money. One man gave me one 
hundred dollars for a water color pic- 
ture. He saw me color and said that 
was one time he couldn't believe his 
eyes. 

My only brother was overseas two 
years in Europe and never received a 
scratch. He's been home one year. 
You now can see how I came to know 
that even under some of the worst cir- 
cumstances life can be beautiful if 
people will only have faith and believe 
that where there's a will there is a way. 
Miss N. G. T. 

Justified Faith 

Dear Papa David: 

I am a very heavy woman on my feet 
and as a result of this and my age, I 
have a hard time finding and keeping 
work. After much walking and dis- 
appointment, I finally found a job in a 
laundry. And was doing pretty well 
until the manager decided I was too 
heavy and clumsy at the work so he 
laid me off. " And in a week my husband 
came down with one of his attacks. 

This left both of us without work, 
and we had no other source of income. 
I cried myself sick over where we 
would get money to buy food and espe- 



cially for rent; this hotel would not 
keep a tenant even three days behind. 

When the colored maid came in to 
clean and inquire about my sick hus- 
band she was so nice and understand- 
ing, I told her my story, without thinking 
she could or would aid me. Her eyes 
filled with tears, and pity. She said to 
me: "You want to ask me to loan you 
money but you are afraid I'll refuse 
and look down on a white woman ask- 
ing a negro for aid, aren't you? Well, 
we'll keep it a secret. I'll not loan, I 
am giving it to you because you have 
no way of paying back. Sure," she 
said, "I didn't know any better than to 
hate the white race until I grew up. 
But now I know people have the same 
feelings. Now some of my best friends 
are white." So she gave me twenty 
dollars and kept my rent paid for as 
long as we were without work (over a 
month). She also kept my secret from 
the other tenants in the hotel. She is 
married and gone from here now. But 
I keep in touch with her because some- 
day I hope to justify her faith in 
"whites." 

Mrs. E. A. 

A Good, Useful Life 

Dear Papa David: 

Upon my graduation from high 
school, I entered a nurse's training 
school to study nursing. I had been a 
girl graduate only two months when I 
had a tragic accident. 

I had left a group of my classmates 
who were making candy in the kitchen 
of the nurses' home to go and take a 
bath, as I had been called by the 
hospital to come and take charge of the 
operating room. When I was gone an 
unreasonably long period of time, the 
girls decided to see what had happened. 
And they found me in the bathtub 
overcome by gas. Unconscious. My 
right arm and leg had been scalded un- 
til the leg had to be amputated above 
the knee. 

Through the physical and mental suf- 
fering that followed with its intermit- 
tant desire to give up, one thing stood 
out clearly. My father and mother had 
worked hard and wanted to educate 
me. I in turn had wanted to make that 
education do something for them, to 
lighten the physical burdens of their 
declining years, not alone because I 
felt I owed it to them, but because I 
loved them even as they had loved me. 
Now, even thus handicapped, I knew I 
had to make that education pay divi- 
dends — for them. I did not know how. 
But I knew I could not give up. I 
hoped and prayed that God might show 
me the way. 

That was in 1927. I went back home 
and lived with my parents for one year. 
In the meantime I bought and mastered 
the use of an artificial limb. Then one 
day the hospital that graduated me, and 
that stood by me through my misfor- 
tune, called arTd said they had a job 
for me if I wanted to undertake it. 

From that day until this I have 
worked without illness or loss of time, 
as their hospital buyer. I handle all the 
buying — drugs, kitchen and floors — 
with their innumerable invoices, and 
all the unimaginable details that go 
into the business management of a 
hospital's supply room. And though my 
accident kept me from ever doing the 
floor duty I wanted to do when I entered 
training, my nurse's training has bene- 
fited both the hospital and the buyer 
who had to turn to her mind for sup- 
port when her body became incapac- 
itated. Now I am happy. I can say I've 
had a good life and a useful one. 

Miss S. W. 




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So she did. She dashed into her 
clothes, packed a bag, and drove to 
Palm Springs to forget Ned — and per- 
haps to meet new men. 

But she only stayed one day in Palm 
Springs, during which she brooded. At 
the end of it she drove hastily back to 
her home in Hollywood. And there, as 
she roared into her driveway, she saw a 
great many boxes piled on her front 
porch — florists' boxes filled with flow- 
ers wilted from waiting for her. They 
were peace offerings from Ned. 

So what did she do? She thought, 
"Get going, Evie!" Then she called 
him up — and they flew to Reno that 
night and got married. But echoes of 
that quarrel — perhaps others — must 
have persisted; for right now Eve and 
Ned Bergen have agreed on a trial sep- 
aration which may or may not be the 
end of their marriage. 

But then Eve Arden has always been 
getting under way. She was born in 
Mill Valley, California, an only child. 
At the age of four she recited a poem 
to some friends of her mother's at tea- 
time, and over her supper that night she 
announced to her father, "When I drow 
up, I will be an actess." 

"No child of mine will be an actress!" 
bellowed her father. 

THIS dialogue went on during the en- 
suing years, with no variation what- 
soever. By the time Eve was seven- 
teen, the proud owner of a diploma from 
Tamalpais High School, she and her 
father had their customary two- 
sentence discussion once more at the 
dinner table, and she ended it by tell- 
ing him what was to be her life's mot- 
to: "I shall get going!" In this case, 
that meant she went across the bay to 
San Francisco, where she spent the 
summer with friends. They were 
bustling people, and when she talked of 
going on the stage, they said, "All right 
— put on your hat." She did, and they 
dropped her firmly in front of the 
Henry Duffy Theater with instructions 
to go inside and ask for an acting job. 

It just fell into her lap— as every- 
thing was to fall into her lap the rest 
of her life, as long as she kept moving. 
She went into the theater, asked to see 
the director, saw him, and got a bit 
part. She was, all of a sudden, a pro- 
fessional actress — and she remained 
with the Duffy Theater for two and a 
half years. She might have been with 
them for many more, except that at that 
point she was moving again . . . she 
had come to Los Angeles with a Duffy 
play, and after the play finished its run 
she stayed in Los Angeles visiting 
friends. Her host and hostess were 
actors, and one actor leads to another — 
so Eve met a new acting company, and 
a vastly amusing one. It was a small 
traveling troupe that roved up and 
down California. 

Naturally, Eve felt right at home; 
she promptly became its leading lady. 
The troupe carried its props, costumes, 
and lights in a trailer, and acted any 
place in a hotel that seemed suitable — 
the lobby, maybe, or an outdoor ter- 
race, with the play's furniture supplied 
by the hotel. Also they acted in big 
private homes, usually in the living 
room. Eve loved every minute of it. 
When the troupe broke up, she began 
acting at the Pasadena Community 
Playhouse; then, with Tyrone Power, 
she did a professional play in Holly- 
wood. Out front one night sat Lee 



Shubert, searching the stage for talent 
for the Shubert-Ziegfeld Follies of 
1935. He took one look at long-legged, 
acid-voiced Eve and signed her up — 
and she was off, at last, for Broadway 
and New York — theater, movies, radio. 

From then on, she's commuted brisk- 
ly from California to New York, alter- 
nating plays with movies. But her real 
interest in life is her Hollywood house 
and the people under its roof. She and 
Ned built the house themselves, and 
Eve alone did all the floor plans. That 
house has been on the cover of a famous 
decorating magazine; and she's been 
the subject of many articles advising 
other home-makers how to decorate. 

The Arden household touch is unique. 
For instance, she has three raised 
hearth fireplaces in the house; and the 
window-seat in her bedroom is three 
and a half feet deep, and fitted with a 
comfortable mattress. Also, she collects 
early American primitive paintings of 
children; and locomotive engines in 
any form. The house is littered with 
locomotives. She has wooden ones, iron 
ones, oil paintings of them. 

Into this house of an evening come a 
swarm of assorted friends. They're 
composers, writers, actors (her best 
friends are the Gregory Pecks, and 
Jane Wyman and Ronald Reagan) ; and 
many school friends from the days of 
Tamalpais High School. 

EVE is probably as famous for her 
stunning wardrobe as she is for her 
comedy roles. "What's it composed of? 
Heavy emphasis on two items — suits 
and hats," says she. Her suits she 
chooses carefully for good lines, and 
then forgets about. But her hats she 
never forgets — she has eighty of them, 
all sizes, shapes, and colors, and she 
wears them constantly. After all, she 
is always under a hat and under way. 

Take her recent trip to New York 
City, complete with daughter Liza and 
a nurse. Reservations had been ar- 
ranged at a famous Fifth Avenue hotel. 
Right on schedule, the trio appeared in 
the lobby and walked confidently up to 
the desk. "I'm Miss Arden, and I have 
a two-week reservation," said Eve. 

"Yes, indeed," said he. "But that's 
made for a month from now, according 
to our records — and we haven't a single 
foot of space to offer you until then!" 

He meant it, too. Eve, Liza, and the 
nurse began hotel-hopping — one night 
in a luxurious suite, the next in a bro- 
ken-down hostelry where the cock- 
roaches fought them for space. And 
so on for the ensuing two weeks. The 
only place her friends could count on 
seeing her was at a different theater 
every night, watching a different play. 
So, at the beginning of her two-week 
stay (when they realized that keeping 
track of her was going to be hazard- 
ous), they all wrote down her nightly 
theatrical plans — and whenever they 
wanted to reach her, they waited in the 
lobby of the play for that night! 

Confusing, what? But not to Eve. 
With her theory of "Get moving!" it fits! 




ORIGINALLY 
PUBLISHED AT $2 
"THE CLUE IN THE CLAY" 
by 0. B. Olsen 



AT YOUR NEWSSTAND 



He Flies Through the Air 

(Continued from page 49) 



attracted by the sound of Dwight's 
landing to come down to the dock, and 
he was as cordial as the guard was un- 
friendly. In no time, he had Dwight 
and Elizabeth seated in the charming 
library of the house he was visiting, 
drinking coffee and exchanging air 
views. 

Meanwhile, the telephone kept ring- 
ing — for Dwight! The angry guard 
had notified medical authorities, the 
police, and anyone else who came to 
his mind about Dwight — and had iden- 
tified the house into which he had gone. 
So Dwight spent a good hour arguing 
over the phone about not paying a $25 
fine for landing in the private lake, 
about how important he thought it was 
to insure his wife's life and his regard- 
less of reservoirs. He finally settled 
everything fine-free, and he and Eliza- 
beth spent the night. The next morn- 
ing they left — leaving behind them a 
brand-new friend (the RAF pilot) and 
a brand-new enemy (the frustrated 
guard) ! 

THERE was also the famous time (in 
pre-war days, when Dwight owned a 
pre-war plane) when they flew to 
Boston to visit relatives — with baby 
Gretchen, then aged two and a half 
years, and baby Richard, who was eight- 
een months old. They had a full plane- 
load of baby bottles, blankets, and 
other infant paraphernalia. The rela- 
tives were astounded then, and still 
are now. But Dwight looks back on 
that time with the amusement of a man 
who currently flies up to Canada to 
fish out of the bow of his floating 
plane; who flew to the Kentucky Derby; 
and who often backs the "Grand Slam" 
up on the beach to park it for a dress- 
ing room, when there isn't a handy 
dock around. 

"It has a reversible pitch propeller, 
and backs up just like a car," says 
Dwight. "And of course it has wheels 
which you let down under water. Then 
I can taxi it right up on the beach if 
necessary; or up the ramp to the han- 
gar, when I land at Wall Street in New 
York City." 

He was born in Palo Alto, California, 
the only son in a family of three daugh- 
ters. His father was secretary of the 
YMCA, and as such was transferred 
right after Dwight's birth to Cleveland, 
Ohio. Here Dwight went to Prospect 
School. By the time he was ready for 
high school, his father became head of 
the Community Chest in Scranton, 
Pennsylvania — so again the family 
moved, and Dwight went to Central 
High School. Then he went to college 
at Ohio Wesleyan University . . . and 
inadvertently stumbled into his life 
work after he'd been there three years. 

He was studying hard, acting dili- 
gently in college plays, and meanwhile 
writing a radio show for an acting-and- 
singing student trio, who appeared over 
the station WAIU in Columbus, Ohio. 
This was a twenty-mile trip from the 
campus, hut Dwight often went with 
them and acted small parts in his own 
radio scripts. One night the station 
manager, who was brooding over the 
imminent departure of his best an- 
nouncer, heard Dwight's voice. In- 
stantly he rushed to Dwight's side, de- 
manded an audition, and gave Dwight 
the job of permanent announcer. 

Delighted, Dwight worked there 
eight hours a day. Meanwhile, he also 
drove back and forth every day, went 



to his classes — and slept through most 
of them. He had a Phi Beta Kappa 
rating in his studies . . . but as his 
radio work went up, his college rating 
went down. 

It was finally too much for the Dean. 
He called in the erring Dwight and de- 
manded to know what had happened. 
"Radio has come into my life," said 
Dwight. Horrified, the Dean delivered 
a scorching speech of reprimand, wind- 
ing up with the remark, "You're trad- 
ing your birthright for a mess of pot- 
tage!" 

The speech had no effect. Dwight con- 
tinued with his radio work — and a 
couple of years after he had graduated 
from college, he noted an interesting 
item in a radio magazine. The Dean was 
now announcing at a local radio sta- 
tion! Dwight resisted an impulse to 
send the old boy a wire saying, "Hey, 
Dean, how's the pottage?" and contin- 
ued on his way . . . via a truck-travel- 
ing little theater company and a season 
at the Cleveland Playhouse, New York 
City. 

He arrived in New York in the sum- 
mer of 1932, a handsome, blue-eyed, 
six-foot-three, brown-haired young 
man with nothing theatrical to recom- 
mend him. He came, furthermore, on a 
hunch. It had been his pleasure at 
parties to do impromptu and impersona- 
tions of famous people — and at one party 
some friend had said, "Why don't you 
go to New York and try to get on that 
new radio show, the March of Time? 
They use lots of actors who imper- 
sonate celebrities." 

So that was exactly why he had come 
to New York, unbeknownst to the 
March of Time producers. His first 
three weeks in the big city he spent 
in a most unusual way: he attended 
newsreel theaters all day long, and in 
the evenings, in his hotel room, he 
imitated the celebrities he'd watched. 
The people up and down his hotel cor- 
ridor heard an assortment of astonish- 
ing voices coming from his room: 
Herbert Hoover's, Franklin D. Roose- 
velt's, George Bernard Shaw's, Clark 
Gable's, many more. 

BUT regardless of their astonishment, 
he continued, and at the end of three 
weeks' practice, he walked into the 
March of Time offices and did his stuff. 
He was hired on the spot . . . for a job 
that was to last thirteen years until the 
program discontinued! Inspired by 
this quick success, he walked into the 
Cavalcade of America offices — and 
cinched the job of narrator there for 
years to come, also! 

Meanwhile, he had done something 
else surprising for a newcomer to New 
York: within a matter of months, he 
had met one Elizabeth Maxwell and had 
fallen in love. 

It happened very unexpectedly. He 
was, at the end of several months, a 
popular member of the Greenwich 
Village set, and had an apartment there. 
One evening a friend of his invited 
him to an impromptu party. Dwight 
strolled in and caught instant sight of 
a small dark girl with large brown 
eyes. She was across the room, and she 
was the most vivacious girl he had ever 
seen. She seemed to talk completely 
when she talked — with the tones of 
her voice, her sparkling eyes, her 
gesturing hands. He was lost before 
he even knew her name, and from the 
night of that party they went out 



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steadily seeing New York together. 

They had what might be called a 
typical Village romance — they went out 
to little restaurants near their homes, 
they often rode on the Staten Island 
ferry boat, they heard all the operas 
together, and one Sunday they even 
climbed the Palisades. Many quiet 
evenings they sat in front of his radio- 
victrola, listening to his collection of 
records. He found out that she was 
from Erie, that she had lived in New 
York for four years before meeting 
him, and that she was a registered 
nurse. But even though they were 
both deeply in love, they didn't get 
around to considering marriage — until 
the housing problem drove them into it. 

It was, however, a far different hous- 
ing problem than today's. It was simply 
that for some reason Dwight moved to 
Long Island, and Elizabeth moved to 
the most remote part of New York. 
Dwight found that he spent most of his 
time commuting endless distances 
from her place to his — and one night, 
exhausted from his travels, he said, 
"What do you say we get married?" 
She said "I say yes," and it was short- 
ly accomplished, at a small chapel in 
Manhattan with a few close friends at- 
tending. 

THAT was twelve years ago. During 
the years they have acquired two chil- 
dren, a dog, a permanent home in the 
country and, of course, the plane. The 
home was acquired with typical Weist 
speed. One Sunday in 1940, they were 
out at the Bowman Beach Club on Lake 
Tomahawk, guests of their friend Karl 
Swenson. They were enchanted by 
the countryside, and Karl told them 
idly that there was a small house for 
sale whose two acres of property came 
right down to the lake front. 

"Where? I'll buy it," said Dwight 
after his customary two seconds of 
meditation. They saw the six-room 
house, half-fieldstone and half-clap- 
board, that afternoon. By the next 
afternoon they had bought it. And 
after that, he decided that the only way 
to live there and still work in New 
York was to buy a plane. He promptly 
bought one — a Fairchild, in 1940 — and 
then learned how to fly! "I thought 
if other people could fly, so could I," 
he says now. It was as simple as that. 

Later, of course, came the war. He 
spent a year flying in the Civilian Air 
Patrol, and meanwhile sold his plane 
outright to the government for train- 
ing purposes. When it came to buying 
his post-war plane he decided on one 
he could moor at his doorstep. Hence 
the "Grand Slam." 

However, all this doesn't mean that 
he and Elizabeth aren't land-minded, 
too. Both of them own bicycles, on 
which they pedal Saturdays and Sun- 
days . . . often to the nearby town of 
Goshen, where they lunch at the Inn. 
They also own a car, which they reluc- 
tantly drive whenever a plane or by- 
cycle wouldn't be practical. And 
Dwight spends hours with his garden 
power tractor, cultivating their big 
vegetable garden. This is a good thing, 
since nowhere in America is there a 
family which eats more healthfully 
than the Weists. They seriously love 
devouring their Weist-grown Swiss 
chard, kale, and spinach; and their idea 
of nectar is buttermilk — or eggnog. 

A great deal of the children's toys 
and furniture are Weist-manufactured, 
too . . . hand-made in the woodshop 
Dwight has operated for eight years 
now on West 51st Street in New York 
City. He goes there to work in spare 



hours between radio shows, and right 
now has all his power tools converging 
on a tri-marin boat. But his ship- 
building is progressing slowly because 
of his radio-activity. 

"There's an old radio gag about 
rushing around so much you don't 
even know what show you're in," says 
he. "But one time it actually hap- 
pened to me!" He was hard at work 
with a group of actors, rehearsing 
Big Town one morning, when a fran- 
tic stranger dodged into their CBS re- 
hearsal room. 

"Got to borrow Weist for a minute!" 
panted the stranger, with which he got 
a grip on Dwight's sleeve and pulled 
him down a hall, up a flight of stairs, 
and into a broadcasting room where 
several actors stood waiting around a 
microphone. As Dwight was dragged 
through the door, still bewildered, some 
one shoved a script in his hand. Some 
one else pushed him in front of the 
mike. Some one else pointed to the 
opening speech. He opened his mouth 
and delivered the speech before his 
eyes, and every time that character 
was supposed to talk, he talked . . . and 
it wasn't until one of the lines in the 
script revealed the words "David 
Harum" that he realized what show he 
was on. 

But that was nothing to the show he 
wasn't on. This was several years ago, 
when he and his family were still New 
York apartment-dwellers. He had had 
one of his pack- jammed days full of 
shows, and when he strolled into his 
living room that night he felt tired 
but triumphant. Then he saw Eliza- 
beth sewing beside the radio, which 
was turned on. At sight of him she 
gasped in astonishment — and at that 
moment he realized that the program 
she was listening to was one he should 
be on! 

Not a word was exchanged by either 
of them. He silently turned, sprinted 
out the front door again, and ran all 
the way to NBC. There he dashed 
into the broadcasting room in time to 
say the closing commercial. He had 
simply let the program slip his mind. 

BUT little else ever has. At home in 
the evening he sits behind a sheaf of 
aviation magazines, all of which he 
reads ardently. When he's not reading, 
he sits behind a typewriter — pounding 
out stories. He has authored two ex- 
pert radio scripts already. One was 
"The Death of Adolph Hitler," which 
was done by Orson Welles on the Kate 
Smith hour. The other was "Evening 
Call," produced by the Radio Guild. 

Every Tuesday evening he and Eliza- 
beth see a play in New York, spending 
the night in town. Many evenings they 
entertain at home, seeing such radio 
personalities as organist Jesse Craw- 
ford (Dwight's best friend), Ed Jerome, 
and Nelson Case. But even when 
guests are present Dwight is busy — 
making model planes for his children. 
Or taking records off the air, which 
is a vital hobby with him. 

"I guess just about the only thing 1 
don't do is play cards," he says. "I de- 
test cards. They should only be played 
if you have nothing better to do — and 
so far I've never had time in my life 
to play, even once!" 

He hasn't, either. He's far too busy. 
Some day he wants to be busier yet — 
writing short stories for magazines in 
the country; but always with the 
"Grand Slam" moored near his window 
— so that he and his family can fly any- 
where they like, whenever they want. 
At high speed! 



Christmas Song for Jimmie 

(.Continued from page 29) 



promised to marry Jim as soon as 
they'd both graduated. 

In 1940 there was a war, but it was 
far away and unimportant to Jim and 
Marcie. The important things were the 
shiny new apartment they had, and 
Jim's job in the bank, and the best 
place in town to buy lamb chops — and 
each other. The curve of Marcie's lips 
was more meaningful to Jim than the 
Maginot Line, and the way Jim looked 
at the breakfast table, all shaved and 
combed and clean-shirted to go to 
work, interested Marcie far more than 
the situation in the Far East. By the 
middle of 1941 they had one other item 
to add to this list of vital matters: lit- 
tle Jimmie, who everyone said was the 
image of his daddy. 

It might have been — it should have 
been — that way with them for always; 
but the war came closer and closer, and 
finally caught this little family up as it 
had caught millions of others. Not 
right away — it was early in 1944 before 
Jim was drafted, but by then he was 
more than ready to go. 

"I'M NO hero," he told me. "I was 
1 scared, sure, and I hated like the 
dickens to leave Marcie and the kid. But 
— well, I hated even worse sticking 
around at home, safe, when other fel- 
lows my age were doing what had to be 
done." 

There were the weeks in the train- 
ing camp, and a home leave with Mar- 
cie, who by then had given up the 
apartment and was living with her 
parents, and then Jim went overseas. 
He didn't tell me much about his war 
experiences. He said they weren't so 
much, compared to some. I gathered, 
though, that he'd been wounded seri- 
ously enough to account for the slight 
limp I'd noticed when he came into my 
study, and to be one of the first men 
discharged after Japan's surrender. 

He was excited about going home, 
more excited than he'd been about any- 
thing since his wedding day. He pic- 
tured Marcie as she'd look standing on 
the station platform with that blue rib- 
bon in her hair, and holding tight to 
Jimmie with one hand while she waved 
a greeting to him with the other. And 
he'd get off the train and hold her 
close, and neither of them would say 
a word. They wouldn't have to. 

Only— it wasn't that way at all. There 
was quite a delegation at the station to 
meet him — Marcie's parents, and his, 
and assorted brothers and sisters — and 
while he was grateful that they thought 
enough of him to come, he couldn't 
help wishing that these first few min- 
utes could have been his and Marcie's, 
and no one else's. And Jimmie, while 
he said "Hello, Daddy," very politely, 
had obviously been coached to do just 
that, and didn't really know who he 
was. 

Marcie had no ribbon in her hair. She 
looked tired, he thought, and nervous. 
After he'd kissed her she leaned back in 
his arms, looking at him as if she had 
forgotten him and was trying to fix his 
features in her mind again. Or at any 
rate, that was the way he interpreted 
her oddly questioning expression. 

They went home, but it wasn't home, 
it was just the house which belonged 
to Marcie's parents. Since there wasn't 
a vacant house or apartment in town, 
the plan was for them to go on living 
there for awhile, along with Mr. and 
Mrs. Davidson and young Terry and 



Madeline, Marcie's brother and sister. 

"I like Marcie's folks all right," Jim 
said. "It was just so darned crowded. 
Marcie and the boy and I all slept in 
the same room, and Jimmie wasn't used 
to having me around, so he wouldn't 
go to sleep at night until we'd turned 
out the light and were in bed too. We 
never got a chance to talk to each other, 
really talk — there was always some- 
body around. Jimmie in our room or 
one of the family in the other parts of 
the house. It got on my nerves, I 
guess, and pretty soon I was yelling at 
Marcie for spoiling Jimmie. She'd 
snap back at me then, and one thing'd 
lead to another — you know how it is. 

"Then I began wondering about Mar- 
cie. She seemed so different, somehow, 
not the easy, friendly, happy girl she'd 
been before. I couldn't help thinking 
that maybe something had happened 
while I was away. Something she hadn't 
told me. After all, I'd been gone a year 
and a half . . ." 

Suspicion is the seed of an infernally 
hardy plant. It doesn't need much to 
make it grow. Little things happened, 
little, half -joking things were said. 
Coming back into the house unex- 
pectedly one morning, for something 
he'd forgotten, Jim heard Marcie talk- 
ing to someone on the telephone. "Yes," 
she said. "Yes . . All right, I'll see you 
this afternoon. I can't talk any longer 
now." He asked her who it was, and 
she answered, "Abbie McNeal. We're 
going shopping together this afternon. 
but she'd keep me on the telephone all 
morning if I didn't hang up on her." 
It was logical, but still — he wondered. 

And some of the talk at the bank 
and in Creary's billiard parlor bothered 
him. "It's a good thing you boys are 
back. Women need their own husbands 
around, keep them from getting into 
trouble." The man who said this ac- 
companied it with a smile, but maybe 
the smile had a certain hidden signifi- 
cance. Marcie liked to dance, she liked 
a good time, and the war hadn't taken 
all the unattached men out of town. 

"FINALLY 1 did something I shouldn't 
T have," Jim said, "I didn't even mean 
to do it — it just happened. These things 
were in my head, going round and 
round, and I couldn't get rid of them. 
One night Marcie and I were going 
out to a movie. It was my idea, and I 
had to talk Marcie into agreeing to 
leave Jimmie home with her folks. I 
was waiting for her on the poroh and 
Jimmie was playing around in the yard. 
He stopped playing and wanted to 
know where we were going. I told 
him, and then I heard myself saying, 
'Didn't Mommy ever go out at night 
when I was away, Jimmie?' 

"He looked up at me. He seemed to 
be thinking, wondering what he ought 
to answer. Right then, I wished he 
wouldn't answer anything. I'd have 
given anything not to have asked him 
in the first place. He said, 'No — only 
with Uncle Bert.' " 

There was only one person in town, 
as far as Jim knew, who could be 
"Uncle Bert," and that was Bert Haz- 
zard, the same Bert Hazzard who once 
before had been there, waiting for his 
chance to take Marcie over when Jim's 
back was turned. He recollected, too, 
that Bert was still a bachelor, and 4-F. 

Marcie came out, and he was silent 
while she said good night to Jimmie. 
They started down the street, and had 




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gone a block or so when Jim said in a 
strange, tight voice which he hardly 
recognized as his own: 

"Maybe you'd rather see this movie 
with Uncle Bert than with me?" 

Marcie had been walking easily and 
lightly beside him. At his words the 
rhythm of her steps faltered, and she 
turned to stare at him. 

"Uncle Bert . . . ? I don't know what 
you mean, Jim." 

"Don't you?" he said unbelievingly. 
"It seems Jimmie has a new relative 
named Uncle Bert, who used to take 
you out when I was overseas. It 
wouldn't be Bert Hazzard, would it?" 

"Why yes," she said. "I went out 
with him a few times. You knew 
about it — I wrote and told you." 

That could have been true. Jim knew 
there were many letters he had never 
received. If it were true, it didn't help. 
Jimmie had still called Bert "Uncle." 

"You must have been pretty friendly 
with him," he said, and at that Marcie 
stopped walking. 

"What does that mean?" she de- 
manded. " 'Pretty friendly.' " 

"What does it sound like?" he coun- 
tered. In spite of his anger, he couldn't 
bring himself to say the blunt, ugly 
words that were in his mind. 

"Do you really believe I could — " 
Marcie said. "Do you, Jim Kenyon?" 

A wise man would have said, "No," 
because it would have been true, and a 
coward would have said "No" simply 
to keep the peace, but Jim was neither 
a coward nor very wise. He said: 

"I'm not saying what I believe. I'm 
asking you, Marcie. I want to know. 
You — you aren't the same as you were 
when I left, and I've wondered why. 
Could be the reason is Bert." 

Her face was very white. Without a 
word, she turned and began to walk 
back toward the house. He ran after 
her, caught her roughly by the arm. 
"Come on," he said. "Don't try to run 
out on me. Just answer my question." 

SHE tried to pull away from him, but 
she couldn't. "I won't answer a ques- 
tion like that!" she said stormily. "You 
can believe whatever you please. You 
say I've changed — well, so have you! 
Nothing pleases you any more. You're 
jealous and suspicious and hateful." 
Her eyes flashed. "Take your hands of 
me!" 

Jim let her go, and they walked back 
to the house in silence. When they got 
there, Jim went up to their room and 
began to pack a suitcase. She was put- 
ting on an act, he said to himself, pre- 
tending to be the injured and misun- 
derstood wife. The main point was 
that she hadn't denied his accusation 
— and it would have been easy to deny 
if she were innocent. 

Marcie came into the room and 
watched him pack, but she didn't try 
to stop him. He left the house and 
went to his own parents', and the next 
day he quit his job at the bank and took 
a train to Chicago. 

"That was three months ago, almost," 
he said, kneading the knuckles of one 
hand, hard, with the thumb of the 
other. "I've been here ever since, and 
I was sure I was right until this morn- 
ing. I — " He broke off, looking at me 
appealingly, as if ashamed to go on. 

"What happened this morning?" I 
asked. I wanted to keep him talking, 
but more than that I wanted to know 
if this bewildered and unhappy young 
man had been able to find his own way 
out of his troubles. I hoped he had. 
M The only work he'd been able to find 

in Chicago, he told me, was as a check- 
er for a taxicab company, working on 



the night shift. That morning, on his 
way home from work, he'd passed a 
radio shop which had its loudspeaker 
on the sidewalk, and he'd heard a 
song. He stopped where he was, with 
the crowds jostling him, and listened. 
For the life of him, he couldn't have 
moved from there until the song was 
finished. And while he listened, the 
dirty city street faded away and all he 
saw was the living room of the little 
apartment back home where he and 
Marcie — and Jimmie — had lived until 
he went away to war. 

It was a song he'd never heard be- 
fore, except in that living room. Its 
title was "Oh, How Shall I Keep My 
Christmas?" and it had been one of the 
songs printed in a little paper-bound 
book a department-store Santa Claus 
had given Marcie and Jimmie before 
the Christmas of 1943. 

Memory swept him back. He saw 
Marcie with two-year-old Jimmie on 
her lap, and she was flushed and pretty 
and laughing. "I wish we had that 



HAVE YOU A STORY 
LIRE THIS TO TELL? 

What episode in your own life was 
influenced by a hymn? Write us a 
letter telling the true story, in three 
hundred words or less, of how the 
hearing of a hymn helped you to 
make an important step in your life. 
Radio Mirror will purchase what is, 
in the opinion of the editors, the 
most interesting story, and will print 
it in the April issue of Radio Mir- 
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Space permitting, we will print oth- 
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become the property of Radio Mir- 
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Santa Claus here to sing this song him- 
self!" she said. "It's the only one Jim- 
mie wants to hear," 

Imperiously, Jimmie ordered, "Again, 
Mommy!" 

"Oh, Jimmie!" Marcie sighed. But 
she sang it again, in her clear sweet 
voice — and again and again and again, 
holding Jimmie in her arms and look- 
ing — Jim remembered that he'd 
thought at the time — like a twentieth- 
century Madonna. 

Jim shook his head impatiently, and 
began walking again along the street. 
But he couldn't leave his memories be- 
hind. 

Marcie waking up in the morning, 
opening her eyes slowly and looking 
first of all over to his side of the double 
bed, to make sure that he was there — 
and when she saw him, smiling that 
wonderful crinky smile of hers. 

Marcie in the kitchen, the first year 
of their marriage, a dripping spoon in 
one hand and a cook-book in the other, 
trying to make a lemon meringue pie 
because he'd mentioned that he liked 
them. 

And Marcie bending over her worn 
cloth coat, remodeling it so it would 
do another winter because, she said, 
a new suit was more important to him, 
working in the bank, than a new coat 
was to her. 



"I remembered other things," he 
said, "too many to tell you, Dr. Bradley. 
The only trouble was — why should I 
remember them right now? Just be- 
cause I happened to hear a song she 
used to sing — that doesn't really have 
anything to do with whether or not 
she — behaved herself, while I was 
away. It doesn't prove anything at 
all, one way or the other. Okay, so 
she used to be in love with me. That 
doesn't mean she's in love with me now. 
She still could've changed, fallen for 
Bert Hazzard. I walked along, trying 
to see the straight of it, and all at once 
I knew I couldn't figure it out alone. 
I was going past your church, and I 
decided to come in and see if I could 
talk to you about it. Maybe you can 
tell me if I'm just kidding myself be- 
cause I'm lonely and want to go back 
to her anyhow." 

"IfO," I said, "I don't think you are 
11 kidding yourself, and I don't think 
you just happened to hear that song, 
either. You see, Jim, God has His own 
ways of opening our eyes when we've 
wilfully shut them. He has given you 
back your faith in Marcie. That was the 
only thing He had to give you, be- 
cause it was all you'd ever lost. I won't 
go into why you lost it — maybe Mar- 
cie was right when she said you were 
the one that had changed, after you 
came back. Certainly, some way or 
other you had lost your faith in her, 
even before you accused her of in- 
fidelity. You wondered why she didn't 
deny the charge; but if she had, you 
wouldn't have believed her. You 
couldnt have — you didn't have the 
faith. Marcie knew that, and it's why 
she refused to answer your question — 
it's why she let you go away. Do you 
believe — now, this minute — that Mar- 
cie was ever untrue to you, even in 
her thoughts?" 

Jim stared at me for a long silent 
minute; I could almost see his thoughts 
and confused feelings rearranging 
themselves, giving order back to his 
little world. 

Slowly, he shook his head. "I was 
sure she had been, before — but not 
now." 

"Still, there's no logical reason for 
you to change your mind. No reason 
at all, except that you heard a song. 
But God doesn't work with logic, Jim. 
He has other ways of making us see 
the truth — and I'm sure that what you 
believe now is the truth. I'm certain, 
even though I've never seen her, that 
Marcie never stopped loving you, not 
for one instant, and that if you go back 
to her tonight you'll find her waiting." 

"You think so, Dr. Bradley?" Eager 
hope blazed in his face, then died. "You 
think she'll take me back?" he asked 
dubiously. 

"Of course she will," I said. "Never 
doubt it, Jim. Women like Marcie don't 
hold grudges. I think, though, you'd 
better hurry You want to get home in 
plenty of time for Christmas Eve, don't 
you?" 

This Christmas season I will be on the 
radio myself, talking on the Hymns of 
All Churches program. I don't know 
what Christmas songs the choir will 
select. I do know that whatever songs 
they pick will be heard by two people 
living together again, in happiness and 
in trust. I will be thinking of these 
two as I, in the studio, listen to that 
wonderful music. I will be thinking 
of them and hoping that somewhere 
other listeners will find in the music 
the same healing nostalgia, the same 
lost memories, that brought back Jim's 
faith in his Marcie. 



America fok a mi, easy vtay ti m 



Out of the war has come one bless- 
ing—a lesson in thrift for mil- 
lions of those who never before had 
learned to save. 

Enrolled under the Payroll Savings 
Plan in thousands of factories, offices, 
and stores, over 27 million American 
wage earners were purchasing "E" 
Bonds alone at the rate of about 6 
billion dollars worth a year by the time 
V-J Day arrived. 

With War Bond Savings automati- 
cally deducted from their wages every 
week, thrift was "painless" to these 
wage earners. At the end of the war, 
many who never before had bank ac- 
counts could scarcely believe the sav- 
ings they held. 

The moral was plain to most. Here 
was a new, easy way to save; one as 
well suited to the future as to the past. 
Result: Today, millions of Americans 
are continuing to buy, through their 
Payroll Savings Plan, not War Bonds, 
but their peacetime equivalent— U. S. 
Savings Bond& 





From war to peace! War Bonds are now 
known as U. S. Savings Bonds, bring the same 
high return— $25 for every $18.75 at maturity. 



Out of pay — into nest eggs! A wage earner 
can choose his own figure, have it deducted 
regularly from earnings under Payroll 
Savings Plan. 



New homes to own! Thousands of new 
homes, like this, will be partially paid for 
through Bonds wisely accumulated during 
the next five to ten years. 




Keeping cost of living in check! Buying 
only needed plentiful goods and saving the 
money which would bid up prices of scarce 
goods keeps your cost of living from rising. 
Save automatically — regularly. 



Savings chart. Plan above shows how even 
modest weekly savings can grow into big 
figures. Moral: Join your Payroll Savings 
Plan next payday. 



SAvemeeAsywAr... 

buy your bonds 

through payroll savings 



Contributed by this magazine in co-operation 
with the Magazine Publishers of America as a public service. 





According to a recent nationwide survey: 

More Doctors smoke Camels 
than any other cigarette 



R. J. Reynolds 

Tobacco Company, 

Winston-Salem. N.C 




YOUR "T-ZONE" WILL TELL YOU 

T for Taste . . . 
T for Throat . . . 

that's your proving 
ground for any 
cigarette. See if 
Camels don't suit 
your "T-Zone" 
to a "T." 



• Not a single branch of medicine was over- 
looked in this nationwide survey made by three 
leading independent research organizations. To 
113,597 doctors from Canada to Mexico, from 
the Atlantic to the Pacific went the query — 
What cigarette do you smoke, Doctor? 

The brand named most was Camel. 

Like anyone else, a doctor smokes for pleas- 
ure. He appreciates rich, full flavor and cool 
mildness just as any other smoker. If you don't 
happen to be a Camel smoker now, try Camels. 
Let your "T-Zone" give you the answer. 



Camels 



Costlier 
Toiaccos 




'twxjr-xjvx^mxA^ 1 




a 



25? 



k 





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%% 



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5% 






MAYBELLINE 
SOLID MASCARA 
in the new gold-colored 
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MAYBELLINE 
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IJUM&Ry, ffoME/?' 



GIRL: No, I'm not hungry. Just looking. 

CUPID: just looking, she says! "Lovelorn Maiden Gazes 
Yearningly at Valentine, and says she's—" 

GIRL: Smart-aleck! Know-it-all! Instead of poking fun 
at me, you might try to help! 

CUPID: Me help you? Why don't you stop moping 
long enough to help yourself? Smile at men. Gleam 
at 'em, give 'em the old glitter. They'll eat it up! 

GIRL: And then have stomach-ache! You should see 
my smile, Cupid. Looks as though it got dragged along 
a country road. I clean my teeth faithfully, but— 

CUPID: No sparkle, eh? And "pink" on your 
tooth brush? 

GIRL: Well, now that I think of it— 

CUPID: Now that you think of it! You beanhead! 

"Pink" is a warning to see your dentist. Let him 
figure out what's what. He may say it's just a case of 
soft foods robbing your gums of exercise. If so, he'll 
probably suggest "the helpful stimulation of 
Ipana and massage." 

GIRL: And then, as I'm walking out, he'll hand me a > 
box containing one bright smile— 

CUPID: Nitwit, bright smiles depend largely on firm, 
healthy gums. Ipana not only cleans teeth— it's 
designed, with gentle massage, to help gums. If your 
dentist suggests massage with Ipana, start right in 
. . . and Baby, you'll be on the way to a smile 
that'll have men eating their hearts out for you! 




IPANA^and MASSAGE 



Product of Bristol-Myers 







According to our request-letters, 
it's altogether too long since we've 
given you Living Portraits on 
Stella Dallas. So, next month, 
there they'll be — pages of friendly 
at-home pictures to bring you up 
to date on Stella and her family, 
and show you what they're doing 
these days. 

Backstage Wife (Mary Noble) 
and her actor -husband become in- 
volved in sinister doings, when 
relatives turn out to be not quite 
what they seem. That's next 
month's picture-story, and an ex- 
citing one it is. 

* * * 

Stories too on Tom Breneman, 
Roy Rogers, Patti Clayton, Judy 
Canova — Biographies of radio 
people whose careers are in the 
making, and more information 
about those you already know — 
Decoration, Food, and Fashion by 
stars who are as vitally interested 
in these things as you are. 



FEBRUARY, 1947 



VOL. 27, NO. 3 



Facing the Music by Ken Alden 6 

New Records 10 

What's New From Coast To Coast by Dale Banks 12 

An Explanation To Our Readers 21 

I Asked For A Home — A Queen For a Day Story by Eileen Jones 22 

Pepper Young's Family Finds A Girl For Joe 24 

Anyone Can Make Mistakes! — A One Man's Family Story 26 

Mr. District Attorney — A Picture-Story 28 

Between the Bookends by Ted Malone 32 

The Best of Everything — Cover Girl Ginny Siinms 34 

The NoSe and The Haircut — Durante-Moore in Pictures 36 



by George A. Putnam 



40 
42 
44 
46 



Life Can Be Beautiful 

"It's A Honeymoon !" 

Portia Blake Settles A Point of Law 

The Little Girl Next Door — Norma Jean Nilsson 

Come and Visit The Kay Kysers 48 

Road of Life — In Living Portraits 52 

For Better Living: 

Around The World in a Sauceboat by Kate Smith 56 

Easy As It Looks (Julie Stevens Decorates) 58 

Yours Alone (Louise Fitch's Wardrobe) 59 

Specs Appeal (Joan Edwards Models) 71 

Inside Radio^Program Guide 60 

Information Booth — Your Questions Answered 78 

Introducing: Judy Canova, Page 3; Ethel Smith, Henry Morgan, Page 4; 
King Cole Trio, Page 18; Agnes Moorehead, Page 19. 

ON THE COVER— Ginny Simms. CBS Song Star. Color Portrait by MGM 
Doris McFerran 

Editor 
Marjorie Wallace 
Assistant Editor 



Fred B. Sammls 

Editorial Director 

Evelyn L. Flore 
Associate Editor 



Jack Zasorin 
Art Director 

Frances Maly 
Associate Art Director 



/Ae 




CASIBR TO MANAGB 
TffBMEW 





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JUDY cum 



«UICK, when you hear the name 
Judy Canova, of what do you think 
first? Right. Braids, straw hats, 
high shoes — and corn! But the young 
lady who has her own show on the 
NBC network, at a choice time (Satur- 
days, 10 PM, EST) is the farthest thing 
from a country bumpkin! 

In the first place, Judy, who was born 
in Florida some 28 years ago, comes 
from an illustrious family. Her mother, 
Henrietta Perry Canova is a descendant 
of Commodore Perry and the Canova 
branch of the family lists among its 
famous members the sculptor, Antonio 
Canova, whose works were in wide de- 
mand in the early 19th Century. In the 
second place, Judy started out as a 
"long-hair," beginning her music studies 
under the tutelage of her mother. 

The thing that side-tracked Judy 
from an operatic goal was her radio 
appearance on the Paul Whiteman show 
in 1937. Judy's cut-ups on that pro- 
gram received such wide notice that 
she was offered stage and radio en- 
gagements for her zany type of comedy 
that were just too good to turn down. 

Today, Judy's activities line up some- 
thing like this — she's under contract to 
Columbia Pictures, she has her own 
NBC show and, in between, she man- 
ages personal appearances. 

Judy has decided that since she didn't 
turn out to be an opera singer, she's 
satisfied to settle for being a sort of 
feminine counterpart of the late Will 
Rogers. Actually, to a large degree, 
this ambition has already been 
achieved. Her comments on the hap- 
penings of the day have the keen in- 
sight and perspective that characterized 
the beloved Rogers' wit. One nice ex- 
ample was Judy's remark when the 
European phase of this World War II 
was declared ended. She quipped, 
"Now, if Congress would only come to 
terms, we'd only have one war to fight." 

RADIO MIRROR, published monthly by 
MACFADDEN PUBLICATIONS. INC., New York, N. Y. 
General Business, Editorial and Advertising; Offices: 205 East 
42nd St., New York 17, N. Y O. J, Elder, president; Harold 
Wise, Senior Vice President; S. O. Shapiro, Vice President; 
Herbert Drake, Vice President; Meyer Dworkin, Secretary and 
Treasurer; Edward F. Lethen, Advertising Director. Chicago 
Office, 221 North La Salle St., Leslie R Gage, Mgr. Pacific 
Coast Offices: San Francisco, 420 Market Street; Hollywood, 
321 So. Beverly Dr., Lee Andrews. Manager. Reentered as 
Second Class matter March 15, 1946, at the Post Office at 
New York, N. Y., under the Act of March 3, 1879 Subscrip. 
tion rates: U. S. and Possessions, Canada and Newfoundland, 
$2.50 per year. All other countries S5.00 per year. Price 
per copy: 25c in the United States and Canada, while Man- 
uscripts, Photographs and Drawings are submitted at the own- 
er's risk, every effort will be made to return those found un- 
available if accompanied by sufficient first class postage and 
explicit name and address. Contributors are especially ad- 
vised to be sure to retain copies of their contributions, other- 
wise they are taking unnecessary risk. The contents of this 
magazine may not be reprinted either wholly or in part, 
without permission. 

„ , . (Member of Macfadden Women's Group) 

Copyright 1947, by Macfadden Publications, Inc. Copvright 
also in Canada. Registered at Stationers' Hall, Great Britain 
Printed in the U. S. A. by Art Color Printing Co., Dunellen N. J. 



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<^4fe^te ETHEL SMITH 

Only her music is Latin — she's as United States as apple pie 



AS American as her name, Ethel Smith is still con- 
sidered the foremost exponent of the Samba, 
Rhumba and other Latin American rhythms on 
the electric organ. She's familiar to radio audi- 
ences as a guest star on major variety programs, a 
guest who returns and returns once the public has 
heard her. 

Born in Pittsburgh, Miss Smith was educated at 
Carnegie Institute of Technology where she studied 
German, Spanish, French in addition to the organ and 
piano. 

She went to California on a personal appear- 
ance tour. One day she was asked to accompany a 
singer at one of the Hollywood studios and there she 
noticed an electric organ. Until she tried playing 
it, she had never found an organ that would give full 
liberty to her fine finger action and speed. She was 
fascinated by the new organ and managed to visit the 
studio daily to practice on it, until she was sent to 
Florida with a trio. 

Ethel was a traveling lady. She made three trips 
to Cuba and the South American countries. Wherever 
she went, she always contrived to live among the 



people of those countries, studying their customs, 
their languages and, especially their music. It was 
inevitable that she should combine the exotic music 
of Latin America and her love for playing the organ. 
She began to make more and more successful appear- 
ances in Cuba and South America and it was while 
she was playing there that an executive of a tobacco 
company asked her to return to New York for a 
commercial radio show. 

Besides winning herself a reputation of being vir- 
tually an artist of South America, Miss Smith, through 
her study of Latin languages, became a central figure 
in diplomatic circles. Many of the American news 
correspondents and commentators sought her out as 
an interpreter, sometimes even as a good-will ambas- 
sador, because of her fine understanding of the people. 

Since her return, Ethel Smith has made her mark 
in the film world too. She's appeared in pictures like 
"Bathing Beauty," "George White's Scandals," "Twice 
Blessed," "Easy to Wed," "Cuban Pete" and "Walt 
Disney's Carnival." Her recordings are not to be 
sneered at, either, what with "Tico, Tico," "Lero, 
Lero" and "Bon Ti Bi Atreveido." 



^4^%^g^HESRY MORGAJ 



He auctioned off a network — vice-president by vice-president! 



WHAT is this Henry Morgan — the brash young man 
who has injected the first real touch of originality 
into radio comedy with his wit, sharp satire? The 
only way to find out — because interviewing him won't 
tell you — is to listen to his program on ABC, Wednes- 
days at 10:30 PM, EST. 

A good looking, blue-eyed, brown-haired chap, 
neatly dressed, Morgan might be mistaken for what 
he likes to call "the average man." That is, until he 
opens his mouth. 

According to Morgan, he was born of mixed par- 
entage — man and woman — on the day before April 
Fools Day, 1915. A native New Yorker, he started 
poking fun at radio years ago when, at the age of 17, 
he went to work as a page boy for WMCA, New York, 
at eight dollars a week. He discovered very soon, 
however, that a page boy's opinions concerning pro- 
grams, announcer or talent were not only not so- 
licited, they were not welcome. In spite of a bit of 
discomfort here and there on the staff, however, 
Morgan did work himself up to an announcer's job 
at WMCA before he moved over to WABC. He 
wasn't with WABC very long before he went to 




WCAU in Philadelphia. 

Returning to New York, Morgan was hired by 
WOR as an announcer. Among his chores was an- 
nouncing dance bands from remote spots. Finally, 
WOR decided to give him a once-a-week program on 
which he could do all the kidding he wanted — a mat- 
ter of self-protection from the station's point 
of view. 

After a row with the executives at WOR, which he 
gleefully related in detail to his radio audience, he 
went on the air and auctioned off the whole network, 
station by station, vice-president by vice-president, 
for $83. The announcers he sold in pairs — "so they 
wouldn't be lonely." 

Early in 1943, Morgan went into the Army. Upon 
his discharge in the fall of 1945, he picked up with 
Here's Morgan on WJZ. Then he went west and 
married actress Isobel Gibbs. 

At long last he returned to New York and the 
Henry Morgan Show finally went on the air. After 
three broadcasts, Henry got another target for his 
wit — a sponsor. Morgan is one of the few in radio 
whose contract allows him to kid his sponsors. 




■: : 




ill 14. 



*3 TBB 



»»afe?%p /Zj&st* "j» m - f 0»«— 



thm Wm 3eny& Ch/wces! 




IT WAS HER FIRST real party 
. . . "to launch her properly," 
Betty's mother said. 

The nicest boys and girls in 
town were there, and that one boy 
in particular whom Betty was so 
sweet on. Everything went beauti- 
fully and there was no doubt that 
this gay little party was really put- 
ting Betty over . . . and then came 
the candle incident! And from that 
moment on Betty was not only 
launched . . . she was sunk! 

News like that* gets around 
pretty fast and it can take a girl a 
long time to stage a come-back. 

How About You? 

How can anybody be so foolish as 
to take chances with *halitosis 
(bad breath)? It's often two 
strikes against you from the start. 
And you yourself may not realize 
when you have it. 

Why risk offending when 



Listerine Antiseptic is such a won* 

derful precaution against off-color 

breath? So many smart people, 

popular people never, never 

omit it. 

Before Any Date 

Before any date, where you want 
to be at your best, simply rinse 
the mouth with this delightful 
antiseptic. 

Almost at once your breath 
becomes sweeter, fresher, less 
likely to offend. 

While some cases of halitosis 
are of systemic origin, most cases, 
say some authorities, are due to 
the bacterial fermentation of tiny 
food particles clinging to mouth 
surfaces. 

Listerine Antiseptic halts such 
fermentation, then overcomes the 
odors fermentation causes. 

Lambert Pharmacal Company 
St. Louis, Missouri 



BEFORE ANY DATE 



LISTERINE ANTISEPTIC for oral hygiene 



FACING the 




If Hal (center) didn't relax between 
numbers, he wouldn't relax at all. 




THERE'S a major bandstand rebellion going on. For 
weeks the Broadway columns have been bulging 
with items that Harry James, Tommy Dorsey, 
Les Brown and other tune titans are thinking of 
calling it quits. Now that they have made their 
reputations and riches, they are weary of the arduous 
one night stands, the theater dates and the strenuous 
five-shows-a-day, the nerve-racking recording dates. 
Harried ballroom operators are finding it increas- 
ingly difficult to book big-name attractions and the 
smoke of battle still hangs over the lush sanctums 
of Broadway booking offices as the agents tangle 
with the tired and temperamental baton-wavers. 

"I don't ever want to see a bus again," one de- 
jected horn footer told me. "That's where ulcers 
are born." 

"All the money in the world can't buy you a home- 
cooked meal when you're making a quick hop be- 
tween Scranton and Shamokin," complained a 
prominent leader as he stuffed himself with a Lindy 
pancake. 

Observing this crisis with more than casual interest 
is mild-mannered, friendly and philosophical Hal 
Mclntyre, whose fine, experienced band is growing 
in stature with each date and each record. 

The Mclntyre band spends seventy-five per cent 
of its time on the road and in theaters. The rigors of 
these travels are nothing new to tall, good-looking 
Mclntyre. He got his indoctrination with Glenn Mil- 
ler's band when that outfit hit the road and found on 
its bumpy pathway the key to popular music success. 

I cornered Hal between rehearsals for a new batch 
of Cosmo records, a brief interlude between ex- 
tensive road tour stops. 

"I can't say that Harry James and Tommy arei 




%J 



Kate Smith, National Chairman of the Sister 
Kenny Infantile Paralysis Fund Drive, takes 
over from last year's chairman, Bing Crosby. 




crazy," he said, "It's a rough racket. But I don't mind 
it. I couldn't think of doing anything else and there's 
no other way a band can reach its public and hold it." 

Mclntyre is mildly amused when the now-prosper- 
ous musicians moan about the unpleasantries of road 
touring. He thinks it's a cinch compared to the con- 
ditions he and his boys experienced when they went 
overseas to entertain our troops. His was the only 
major dance band to undertake the trip. 

Hal was too modest to recount his experiences but 
others are eager to tell how Hal's band started with 
an audition at the Olympia Stadium in Paris, swept 
eastward and across Germany, traveling in trucks, 
so the band could start performing at ten minutes 
notice. It played in enlisted men's clubs, open fields, 
rain or shine, improvised theaters, wherever enough 
GI's were around who wanted to hear a bit of home- 
made American jazz. All told, the band spent five 
months overseas and gave shows before 450,000 
swing-happy soldiers. 

"I remember a long time ago seeing a play called 
'Gentlemen Of The Press,' " he said. "The hero was 
a reporter whose wife burns 'cause he's never around 
at important times like wedding anniversaries, baby 
birthdays, and Christmas week. 

"Today, that gives me a laugh. Baby birthdays! 
Look, when our first baby was born in Hartford, 
know where I was? — playing a date in Toronto. It 
was seven weeks before I could get to see June, my 
wife, and the kid. You got any kids? You know, 
then, how agonizing those seven weeks could be?" 

Last year Hal and his wife had another baby. Birth- 
place was the same, dear old Hartford. But this time 
Hal was in Salt Lake City! 

"But I couldn't wait this time. I chartered a plane!" 




Newest disc jockey is famous sports an- 
nouncer Ted Husing, on New York's WHN. 








Sigmund Romberg, who has composed some of America's 
favorite music, is currently on concert tour. Listen 
for him as a summer replacement for an evening show. 




Hildegarde Loretta Sell — better known 
as The Incomparable Hildegarde — lights 
up CBS's Campbell Room, Sundays at 9. 



The most unforgettable moment in Hal's life was 
the time he and his band were hustling to Columbus, 
Ohio, from a one-nighter in Indianapolis. They 
stopped at a roadside diner for coffee. George Moffett, 
Mclntyre's manager, got into a hot dispute with one 
of the musicians. The owner of the diner, somehow, 
got mixed in enough to leap from behind the counter 
and crash a baseball bat in Moffett's direction. Hal 
jumped towards the diner proprietor, who then 
grabbed a 12-gauge shot gun, and pumped two bullets 
which tore through the wall. 

"A couple of million Nazis never saw me long 
enough to shoot at me," Hal said. "It took a hash 
house owner in Indianapolis to do that." 
* * * 

All is not well with several big network radio 
shows that emphasize musical personalities. There is 
talk of a backstage feud between Benny Goodman 




Three weekly shows leave Perry 
Como no time for fun and family. A 
weekly half hour may be the answer. 



and Victor Borge, who merge their talents on NBC 
each Monday. The Alice Faye-Phil Harris stanzas 
are due for complete overhauling, and both the Ginny 
Simms and Dinah Shore listener ratings are dis- 
appointing their respective sponsors. 

Night club business in New York and other key 

cities is way off form. One of the few major spots 

that is doing capacity business is the Hotel Roosevelt 

in Gotham where the reliable Guy Lombardo band 

holds forth. One major hotel dancing spot had less 

than two dozen diners the night we canvassed it, 

despite the fact that a very well known orchestra 

was on the bandstand. 

* * * 

The reason you haven't been hearing Ginny Simms 

on phonograph records is because the record company 

she signed with, ARA, went out of business. However, 

within a few months Ginny should be reaching the 

juke boxes again singing under the Sonora label. 

Ted Husing, the sports gabber, is the latest disc 
jockey, talking and spinning records over WHN. He 
is reported to be the highest priced record commen- 
tator on the air. 

* * * 

"Archie's Little Love Song," Duffy's Tavern's new 
comedy song was actually penned by Hoagy "Star- 
dust" Carmichael. 

* * * 

Look for Perry Como to have his own half hour 
show on CBS in 1947, dropping his three-times-a- 
week NBC shots. Perry, who came up the hard way, 
via barbering and mine work, wants to thoroughly 
enjoy his belated prosperity by lazying around and 
playing plenty of golf. 

* * * 

Friends are still confident that the Sinatras will 
be reconciled altho that dramatic night club patch-up, 
engineered by comedian Phil Silvers, was not the 

final solution. 

* * * 

Lena Home has signed a recording contract with 
the new Black and White company. She'll feature 
songs from MGM movies. 



:t^^ /iWf^f^n>> @oob . . . 




Lovely star, Elyse Knox, has it . . • 
skin sparkling-fresh all day long. 
"For cleansing that beautifies, too — it's 
Woodbury Complete Beauty Cream!" 

featured in Monogram's Cinecolor picture 
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WOODBURY 
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{ 



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Luscious-looking Elyse 

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That "Always-Fresh Look" 
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Woodbury time again. 

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THIS WINTER V 






give your hair— 



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FREDDY MARTIN: 

Hits the juke jackpot again with the lovely "Once Upon a 
Moon" which gives the Martinmen plenty of opportunities to 
inject their symphonic styles. "You Are Everything To Me" is 
pleasant stuff on the reverse. (Victor) 
HARRY JAMES: 

The strenuous horn of the James boy makes this wrapup of 
"If I'm Lucky" and "One More Kiss" a wax winner. (Columbia) 
GREAT GILDERSLEEVE: 

Our old radio friend presents a heart-warming album of chil- 
dren's stories which includes Hansel and Gretel and Brave 
Little Tailor. A gift goodie. (Capitol) 
NORO MORALES: 

One of the best interpreters of Latin American rhythms shines 
with "Carmencita," a guaracha, and "Vem Vem," a samba. 
(Majestic) 

DUKE ELLINGTON: 

Hard to find anything to top Ellington in style, arrangements, 
musicianship. His newest disc, "Just Squeeze Me" and the 
torrid "Swamp Fire" proves all this. (Victor) 
VAUGHN MONROE: 

The muscular baritone has put out a new album of dream songs 
none of his many fans will want to miss. (Victor) 
EDDY HOWARD: 

A singer who is getting more and more attention keeps up the 
pace with "The Girl That I Marry" and "You Are Everything 
To Me." (Majestic) 
LARRY GREEN: 

A new pianist-conductor who evidently was nurtured on old 
Eddy Duchin records, shows off his flashy Steinway with "For 
You, For Me," and "Either It's Love Or It Isn't," two brand 
new movie tunes. (Victor) 
PAUL WESTON: 

A capable arranger issues an album of oldies like "Deep 
Purple," "Blue Moon," and "You Go To My Head" that wins 
the nostalgia blue ribbon. (Capitol) 
SAMMY KAYE: 

Two new Hit Parade hits, "And Then It's Heaven" and "Why 
Does It Get So Late So Early" get the familiar Kaye hijinks 
but manage to survive. (Victor) 
WOODY HERMAN: 

The distinctive Herman vocal on "No, Don't Stop" makes this 
a standout. "Heaven Knows" is on the back, where it belongs. 
On a 12 inch platter Herman turns his orchestra over to com- 
poser Igor Stravinsky for the weird and wild "Ebony Con- 
certo." (Columbia) 
JACK SMITH: 

Radio's sparkling singer gives out with "Je T'Adore" and "Why 
Did I Have To Fall in Love" for good returns. (Capitol) 
PEGGY LEE: 

Spirited singing with "It's A Good Day" and the more mellow 
"He's Just My Kind." (Capitol) 
SLIM GAILLARD: 

Groovy "School Kids Hop" and "Chicken Rhythm." (Majestic) 
DARDANELLE TRIO: 

Something different and worth trying is this new instrumental 
unit pairing the lovely "September Song" with the disturbing 
bluesy "When A Woman Loves A Man." (Victor) 
GEORGIA GIBBS: 

One of our better canaries chirps "Is It Worth It?" and "The 
Things We Did Last Summer." (Majestic) 




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11 



■■H 








For "Archie's Little Love Song" recently 
previewed on Duffy's Tavern, Archie had a 
famous "collabowriter", Hoagy Carmichael. 



R 

M 

12 




Elaine Host, CBS, 
plays all kinds of 
parts — children to 
old women — on 
daytime serials. 



WHAT'S NEW 




Gracie, with fire in her eye, takes over the baton from 
orchestra leader Meredith Willson, on the Burns and Allen 
show, heard Thursday evenings at 8:30 P.M., EST, over NBC. 



EVERY Sunday night most of us tune in on two or three 
of the nation's most famous news commentators. It 
sometimes seems as though these men are deliberately 
trying to panic us. This, we feel, is a dangerous thing. 
Today, in a new year that is just getting under way, there 
is a deep need for calmness. The news, itself, is often 
startling enough. We don't need it pitched at us in a 
hysterical voice, we don't need the excited "war voices" 
of 1938, '39 and '40. 

There is a crying need today for men who can talk to 
us in calm, confident tones. There is a need for men who 
can think clearly, who do not feel they can reach us only 
through sensational predictions and announcements. There 
is a need for men who know how to analyze, who do not 
mix gossip and rumor with facts. 

The rant and rave technique belonged to Hitler and his 
ilk. It should have been buried with them. It is rot needed 
by men whose cause is just, who speak the truth. 

So why don't the men at the microphones stop biting 
their fingernails, as they seem to be doing when they bring 
us a roundup of new£? One of the surest ways to keep 
peace in the world is to keep our thoughts and our voices 
under control. We Americans are nervous enough as a 
people and the staccato, jittery voices coming at us of 
late have not been helping us or our cause in the world. 
* * * 

We are happy to tell you that the Superman program, 
which we praised several months ago in this column, has 
just been given the "Page One Award" by the Newspaper 
Guild as the outstanding radio series of the year. And this 
was the show the wise ones said would flop because it dared 



B 



DALE 




COAST* COAST 






\ 




Visitor Fred MacMurray found Anita Gordon more interesting than Charlie McCarthy. 



to touch upon serious, rather than nonsensical, problems! 
* * * 

Tom Breneman, that genial fellow you hear on the 
Breakfast In Hollywood show, is now tossing his hat in 
the millinery ring. He is heading a new firm called Tom 
Breneman Hat Fashions. And every month twelve ex- 
clusively designed chapeaux will be distributed to leading 
stores throughout the nation. All of this strikes us as 
rather odd, because Breneman has been making snide 
remarks about women's hats for years. 

•We shared a taxi with Guy Lombardo the other day as 
he made a quick rush across town from the radio studio 
to the Roosevelt Hotel, where his band is playing. We 
asked Guy why his brother, Carmen, had given up singing. 
Guy wouldn't tell us. When we got to the bandstand with 
Guy, all brother Carmen would tell us is that he would 
rather stick to his sax and clarinet. 



Joan Barton, Patsy Bolton, and Parkyakarkus himself. 



There were some ghosts present in the rafters of Mutual's 
Longacre Theater in New York. All this can be explained 
when you know that the long-faced Basil Rathbone was 
in the studio doing an eerie broadcast for Exploring the 
Unknown.. The apparitions were in the form of the ghosts 
of a gay comedy, "Command To Love," which played in 
the same theater way back in 1929. Rathbone was the star 
of that play and, all during air-show rehearsal, he kept 
complaining that he heard the "ghost-voices" of the past 
objecting to the fact that the theater had been turned into 
a radio studio. 

BANKS 




R 
H 

13 




"My logical successor" — that's 
what John McCormick said of 
Christopher Lynch, Irish tenor. 



Dennis Day brought his Mom and Pop along to NBC to meet guest star 
Jack Haley. Mom and Pop are Mr. and Mrs. Patrick McNulty, and their 
son is the Dennis of A Day in the Life of Dennis Day, heard Thursdays. 





14 



Pilot, then reporter, then M.C. 
— that's the experience of Stu 
Wilson of CBS's Surprise Party. 



From one to another. Burl Ives, whose folk songs have 
captured the heart of many a radio listener, recently 
made another conquest. A man with a pork pie hat on 
his head and a pipe in his mouth drifted into the studio 
to hear Burl transcribe one of his shows. The man lis- 
tened attentively, then came over to Ives and said, "I 
wish I could sing like that." Ives took a deep breath and 
gulped. The man in the hat was Der Bingle, yes, the 
same Crosby who has made millions of dollars and friends 
singing his way. The really good ones, it seems, are never 
satisfied — not with themselves, at any rate. Maybe that's 
how they get that way in the first place — good, we mean. 



Bernard Pearse, ABC's director of special events for 
television, went back to school recently. But this time, he 
went as a teacher and the place was Ithaca College in 
Ithaca, N. Y. Pearse taught his class the latest technique 
in the use of both live cameras and film in the coverage 
of special events. This latest wrinkle in college courses 
was started by the television department of ABC to help 
meet the growing demand for trained video personnel. 
The college kids, Pearse told us by phone, are crazy about 
his course. Gives the listener something to look forward 
to, also. Good training now should mean good video, 
when it gets going. 



Many of you have written us asking the best method to 
break into the radio game. We've always stressed in- 
genuity. Take the case of Maurie Webster, interviewer 
on the CBS Surprise Party show. Maurie told us that he 
got nowhere when, as a high school lad, he first applied 
for a job at a Tacoma radio station. But on his second 
visit, he arranged matters so that the station manager had 
to hear him. Maurie's minister was slated for a broadcast 
talk, and Webster convinced the pastor that he should go 
along and introduce him to the radio audience. He did so 
well, the station manager hired him. 

* * * 

YOU always take a risk of being mauled and pushed 
about when you go to see one F. Sinatra. But, we've 
known Frank since those lean days when he first got a 
job with Harry James' band, so we "risked all" and 
dropped in at one of his rehearsals a short time ago. We 
talked about the trend from swing to sweet and then we 
asked Frank how his fan clubs were going. Sinatra told 
us about a new one. It was formed by the tough studio 
crew who worked with the singer on his last picture. 
Frank is very proud of this new club, because the men 
who work on the movie sets are a hard-boiled, un- 
sentimental sort. By the way, did you know that the 
thin one has fan clubs in 40 countries? People in far off 
places used to think of Babe Ruth as the typical American 
idol — now it is Frank Sinatra, who weighs about a third 
of what the Babe did. 

* * * 

Alan Young is taking piano lessons from Charlie Cantor, 
who, in the role of Zero, is featured on Alan's programs 
Friday night on NBC. Young, who used to be a guitar 
player in a Canadian band, has a fair ear for music and 
is picking up the piano technique rather quickly. If you 
happen to get tickets for the Young show, here's a tip. 
Don't leave immediately after the show goes off the air — 
hang around as Cantor gives Young his weekly lesson. 

* * * 

All of us have, at one time or another, hummed or 
sung "Stardust." Now, Hoagy Carmichael, the CBS star 
who wrote it, reveals that he carried that classic American 
song around in his pocket for two years before Isham 
Jones took it and made it a sensation. And Hoagy was an 
established song writer when he had all that trouble 
trying to get "Stardust" started! 

To the people of Venice, California: We would like you 
to do a little sleuthing for us. Could you tell us whether 
or not Mel Blanc actually runs a hardware store in your 
town? It's probably true, but it seems too much like a 
publicity gag to us. Mel, as you know, operates a Fix-It 
Shop on his CBS show and a publicity gal swears that 
he also really owns this Fix It hardware store in Venice. 
Could be. But we are leary. 




%#. 



/ 



v/ 



says: MRS. RONALD COLMAN 



World's Newest Shade! 

No wonder this new queen of the reds — 
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what it does for your lips! 

I947's Smartest Case! 

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MRS. RONALD COLMAN 

delightful wife of the dis- 
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AND SEE HOW BEAUTIFUL YOU CAN BE 



15 



WHAT'S NEW from COAST to COAST 



Or is there a man shortage? . . . On a recent Mayor Of 
The Town broadcast, Claude Binyon, who plays the role 
of "Butch," was cast aside by his girl friend. The follow- 
ing week, the 15-year-old actor was snowed under with 
letters from girls, all of them saying that they'd like to 
be his girl friend now that he is unattached. 

Our congratulations to Peg Lynch, the charming creator 
of WJZ's The Private Lives of Ethel and Albert, for 
consulting her radio audience about the time they would 
like the show heard on the air. Recently, the program 
department decided that they would like to change the 
time of this humorous drama concerning the Arbuckles, 
but Peg insisted that the audience be asked if they 
wanted the time change. A simple little announcement 
over the air brought in 10,113 replies, almost all of them 
saying "Please don't change the time of the show, it's 
a time when the whole family can hear it." So the show 
stays on at the same spot, 6: 15 P.M., EST. We think that 
Peg's gesture was a truly democratic one. 
* * * 

Now we are writing about someone we really know and 
have liked for some time. He may be new to you, but 
not if you have been listening to the Adventures of Sam 
Spade on CBS. We're talking about that guy, Howard 
Duff, who is doing a bang-up job playing that hard- 
boiled private eye, Sam Spade. We first met Howie during 
a quick trip we took to the Pacific Ocean Areas during 
the war. Howard was a GI then, a staff sergeant working 
with the Armed Forces Radio Service. We met him on 
Saipan, in a hut occupied by three other characters, 
Barron Polan, a Hollywood agent, Jack Sher, a thin 
magazine writer and a red-headed pixie named Bob 
Welch, who has recently turned producer for Paramount. 
These four did much to keep the island in a turmoil. 
Duff, or "Sober Howie," as they called him, was the 
quietest of the quartet. He was then, as he is now, a big, 
good-looking guy, very considerate and friendly. He did 
a fine job as a radio correspondent for the Army, banging 
around Guam, Saipan and Iwo Jima. Now, we hear, he 
has been signed for pictures. 

* * * 

For David Low's new book "Years Of Wrath," a cartoon 
history of the period 1931 to 1945, CBS news analyst 
Quincy Howe has written a running text that recalls 
the circumstances surrounding the world-famous cartoons. 

* * * 

As it launches its tenth year, the Dr. Christian program 
can look back on some fine things accomplished. It is the 



only show on the air written by the listening audience, 
written out of the pain and joy of the average person's 
experiences. More than 200 rural doctors have become 
personal friends of Hersholt's. The program has become 
an inspiration to thousands of lonely and shut-in people 
all over our land. Its producers and actors can be proud 
of the fine job they've done in keeping it the simple and 
heartwarming show that it promised to be on that after- 
noon it started 10 years ago. 

* * * 

By the time you read this, we may have another full 
hour show back on the air. It takes a great deal of talent 
to grab a place in the Hooper free-for-all, but this new 
show, now in the final stages of preparation, looks as if it 
will have the stuff to keep us all happy for a solid hour. 
In the laugh department are Groucho Marx and Mickey 
Rooney. For romance, in the way of a song, is Frances 
Langford. Could you ask for more? 

* * * 

Here's a secret little thing we picked up. Edgar Bergen, 
for a good many years has been trying to duck Charlie. 
Bergen has always cherished a desire to do a single act. 
Bu-t, no sponsor would buy Bergen as a single. Is that 
nasty chuckle we hear coming from Edgar's meal ticket? 




R 

M 

16 




GeGe Pearson of the Red Skelton 
Show helped open her own new Fan 
Club headquarters in Los Angeles. 



Gale Gordon plays the title role 
on Mutual's Case Book of Gregory 
Hood, Monday nights at 8:30 EST. 



Variety in guests and subjects for Jinx Falkenburg and Tex McCrary on 
Hi, Jinx! Sylvia and Murray Winant talk about a new record album for 
children while Mrs. Wendell Willkie waits to discuss women in politics. 




i 



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GLAZED HAM ROLLS 



■? GLAZ.6U n«™» B.W— - 

l» 1 teaspoon dry mustard 
, cup grated row tart apple ]^ ginger 

y 2WP dry bread crumbs * £„„ 8Ugor 

1/4 teaspoon salt , a blespoons melted butter 

* ^"TIucT boiled bam, Vs inch thick 
Thoroughly mix ingredients for stuffing J S^* 
C^-c£t=^!fi Hot oven (400> 

P., 30 -«>°^ n ^t^ ^rup, Blue 
Karo GLAZE: Combine 4 cop 6cloV esand 

lab.l3tob«poon S wo^Acu^ Mpw 



THEY LOOK FANCY . . . they 
taste delicious! But they're 
sure-fire and easy. No practice 
needed ... no sleight-of-hand. 
You'll do 'em quick — and right, 
the first time. Just be sure to have 
on hand some wonderful KARO" 
Syrup. It does more than sweeten. 
It adds food -energy value — and 
the finest flavor you ever struck! 
Such "dressed-up" plain food 
disappears like magic, when the 
family gets a taste. How about 
trying the recipes tomorrow? 

thE KARO K't) 








/ 



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%., 



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l/j cup KARO Syrup, Blue Label 

1/2 cup water 

1/4 teaspoon cinnamon 

1 1 teaspoon grated lemon r.nd 

1 tablespoon butter 



2 tablespoons sugar 
4 baking apples, cored 

1 egg white 

2 tablespoons sugar 
14 almonds, blanched 



"- I 3 maraschino cherries, popped 
Combine first six ingredients .Brine , to o bo. Remo ^ 
from h eat. Pare upper half of opp ^ ^ 

in 9 dish. Pour ^J^Thour'S-nti.t.nd.r. 
moderate oven (350 M a To Qpples 

basting frequently Remov .fro m and 2 fa 

With -^ inau % ma ? t e ch f e °Tes and shredded almonds, 
spoons sugar. Insert che es ^ servmgs . 

Bake 15 minutes or until Ugh tiy _.,..^^^— - 



KARO is a registered trade-mark of Corn Products Refining Company. New York, N. Y. 






©CP. R. Co., 1947 



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it]' 

— i tire A 11 cina 

king cole trio 



IT'S a long way from the days when 
the King Cole Trio appeared in New 
York as an intermission act at Nick's 
in the Village and at Kelly's Stables. 
With a radio show on the NBC web 
all their own (Saturday nights at 
5:45 P.M. EST), a featured spot on 
the Music Hall, NBC, Thursday nights, 
and an opening at Broadway's leading 
vaudeville theater, the King Cole boys 
have every right to be merry old souls. 

The soft rhythmic voice and exqui- 
site piano phrasing of King (Nat) Cole, 
brilliant guitar work of Oscar Moore, 
and Johnny Miller's throbbing bass 
have joined together to add a new facet 
to modern American music. 

King Cole, a Baptist minister's son, 
was born in Montgomery, Alabama, in 
1916, received his first musical instruc- 
tion from his mother, Perlina, when he 
was still a small boy, and by the time 
he was twelve, was a capable pianist 
as well as organist in his father's 
church. The rest of the family were 
also musical. His sister Evelyn and 
brother Edward (who later played bass 
with Noble Sissle and with Nat's first 
big band) sang with him in the choir. 
And of his other brothers, Lionel, who 
is now 11, and Isaac, 17, the latter is 
especially gifted and studies piano day 
and night, hoping to be as good as Nat. 

Oscar, from Austin, Texas, was born 
on Christmas Day in the same year as 
Nat, and lived as a youngster in 
Phoenix, Arizona. Here he developed 
an amazing technique and versatility, 
playing with his brothers in a four- 
piece group — two guitars, bass, and 
violin. (His brother, Johnny Moore, is 
also famous in his own right these 
days.) About a year before joining 
Nat, Oscar had come to Hollywood to 
do studio work, landing a job at MGM, 
and he is the guitarist you heard 
strumming in "Girl Crazy." 

Bassist Johnny Miller joined them 
after a big-band background. And 
now here they are — the first Negro 
group to earn themselves a sponsored, 
coast-to-coast, long-time contract. 



c^itttadncn 



'j 



AGNES MOOREHMD 




WHEN Agnes Moorehead was in New 
York City, we knew a host of young 
radio actresses who sat in awe of her. 
They said it was a little short of a the- 
atrical miracle, the way Aggie Moore- 
head could read a radio script once, 
think two minutes and come up with 
a perfect characterization for whatever 
part she had been cast in. Now, 
she's narrowed her range down a bit 
and the part you hear her in most 
often is her regular job as Marilly, the 
sharp-spoken but soft hearted house- 
keeper on Mayor of the Town— CBS. 
She's still on call, however, for any 
program originating in Hollywood 
which requires anything from eager 
young children to querulous old ladies. 

Agnes was born in Clinton, Massa- 
chusetts. When she was still a small 
child, her family moved to St. Louis. 
After her graduation from the Univers- 
ity of Wisconsin, she sang for a while 
on a St. Louis radio station until she 
decided to come to New York and 
study at the American Academy of 
Dramatic Arts. 

She snagged a part in "Scarlet Pages" 
and began on an acting career of her 
own which did very nicely at keeping 
the wolf from the door. 

Then radio began to get into its 
stride and the daytime serials and 
other dramatic programs created a 
new outlet for her abilities. Agnes was 
one of the first Broadway actresses to 
enter radio. Ernest Truex, who re- 
membered, her in comedy roles on. the 
stage, gave her her first chance in 
radio as his "stooge." After that, her 
"stooging" became legendary around 
the studios. 

In 1936, Agnes became a member of 
Orson Welles' famous Mercury The- 
atre. When Orson went to Hollywood 
to take his first crack at producing 
movies— that was "Citizen Kane" — 
Agnes elected to stay in New York 
because of her full radio schedule. But 
pretty soon a wire came for her, offer- 
ing her a part in the picture— a fine 
offer she couldn't turn down. She's 
been in Hollywood ever since. 




Both are charming. . .both were laundered with LINIT* Starch to keep 
them fresh, crisp, dainty. But one cost $39.75... the other $7.85. 
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perfect finish to all fabrics. Easy directions on every package. 

It's the blouse- at the top that cost $39.75 



ADDS THE 




JkZktd 




*LINIT IS A REGISTERED TRADE-MARK OF CORN PRODUCTS 
RERNING COMPANY, NEW YORK. N.Y. gCP.RCO.. 1947 



LINIT is the smooth, penetrating starch that makes cotton look and feel luxurious as 
linen. By restoring the original finish, LINIT resists muss and soil. And irons fly— with LINIT! 



19 




Helen Neushaefer, color authority... stylist... searches for new colors at private exhibit of precious porcelains. 



miracle ingredient 



gives your nails 



the lasting beauty of ovals of rare porcelain 



From fabulously precious porcelains, came Helen Neushaefer's 
inspiration for her new nail polish. For she knew the ancient porcelain art owned 
a priceless secret . . . how to make brilliant colors last. Now, after years of 
searching to capture in nail polish this same precious quality, she has a 
secret of her own . . . plasteen ... a miracle ingredient to 
help shock-proof your nail-do against chipping and to add amazing new 

brilliance. You'll find enduring loveliness in any of her 12 breath-taking 
colors . . . and for only ten cents ... at all chain store cosmetic counters. 




WAIL POLI 



It lasts so long. . . it looks so beautiful 





The Secret of 
PLASTEEN 

... is its miraculous power 
to "weld" color to the nail. 
But just as startling is the 
shining, jewel-like brilliance 
and the smoother flowing 
qualities Plasteen gives to 
Helen Neushaefer's Polish. 
And to hers exclusively? 



Distributed by A. Sattorios & Company, Inc. 
FMth Ava.. N.V. C. ■ 




An EXPLANATION 

to our READERS 



ONE of the most satisfying things in the world is to have your dreams come 
true. But perhaps the most exciting thing in the world is to make your 
dreams come true — to see the things you've hoped for, worked for, take 
shape in your hands and come a little nearer, at the end of each day's work, to 
the dream in your mind. 

The magazine you are reading — this February, 1947 issue of Radio Mirror- 
is a dream come true. All through the war and in the hectic times of the early 
post-war period, there were discussions and plans for Radio Mirror as the 
magazine really should be some day. Plans were made and revised, tried and 
discarded, pages pasted into a dummy magazine and torn out again. Each letter 
you wrote containing a suggestion for a bigger and better Radio Mirror was care- 
fully considered. The research staff made surveys among you readers, to find 
out exactly what you felt the perfect Radio Mirror should contain. 

Dreaming, as you know, is cheap. You can dream that you have a fine new 
automobile, for instance, and it doesn't cost you a cent. But when you try to 
buy that automobile, to make your dream come true, you find it's a costly 
business, Our dreams, too, were costly ones. And then, last November, we were 
told of greatly increased prices for paper and printing, 

But, we told ourselves, this is, nevertheless, the time for our great "some day" 
to arrive — time to make our dreams into realities. And so, all during November, 
when everyone else was planning for Christmas, we were planning for our big 
day — the day when the February issue of the new, bigger, more exciting Radio 
Mirror would go on sale. We put into it the things that we knew that you wanted. 
More full color picture pages. More new stories about your radio favorites. 
Stories about the home lives of the stars, about their wives or husbands and 
families. Stories about reader- listeners to whom the exciting adventure of going 
on the air, of winning prizes, has happened. New picture stories. A wonderful 
section for the housewife, with an enlarged cooking department and added home 
features as well. Pages devoted to the answers to your questions about radio 
and the people in it. An improved program guide, presented in a more under- 
standable way, and kept up to date by the best methods available to us. 

All of these things and more we put together in the very best way our edi- 
torial and art staffs could devise. Once assembled, they became the February 
issue of Radio Mirror, which you hold in your hands. The price of this new 
magazine is twenty-five cents. Thus, rather than allow the inescapable factors of 
soaring manufacturing costs to lessen the quality of the Radio Mirror you have 
liked so well, in order to maintain the fifteen cent price in the face of higher 
manufacturing costs, we have tried to give you instead a magazine which we 
hope and believe you will like even more, and which you will feel justifies 
the higher price we are compelled to ask for it. 

Will you let us know how you do like it because, after all, it is yours more 
than ours — if you didn't read and enjoy it, there wouldn't be a Radio Mirror. 







I 



Ujl ^IuUm 



21 




C^deen JiiJin. t T^lty 
et Let wi&k, but 

QUEEN FOR A DAY 

ill .vetfatut a 'MUtacUJ 



By 

EILEEN 
JONES 



Queen For a Day is Keard 
2:30 P.M. EST, Monday to 
Friday, on Mutual stations. 



FOR A Hi 



TkERHAPS I should let some other Queen 
j tell you her story, because mine doesn't 

run completely true to form. ... I did 
not get my wish. 

All contestants on the Queen For A 
Day radio program, over the Mutual 
Broadcasting System, are asked what they 
would like most — their heart's desire — if 
they were chosen to reign that day. The 
winner is selected by judges who consider 
their wishes and choose the one most un- 
usual or most interesting. And master- 
of-ceremonies Jack Bailey and the com- 
panies which sponsor the program really 
do try to fulfil those desires — they were 
able to get the Seeing Eye dog that Queen 
Eloise Lee asked for for her little blind 
girl neighbor. And they sent Queen May 
Boss to realize her cherished life's dream, 
to study dramatics. 

Only I can know how hard they tried 
to fulfil my wish, but in jam-packed, 
crowded Los Angeles it would take a 
veritable miracle to find a place to live 
for myself and my husband and my three- 
year-old Bobby. That was what I wanted. 
A place for our very own. 

But if I didn't realize my spoken wish, 
another — a greater gift, even — was given 
me; became a miracle within me. 

So in that sense I am typical of all the 
Queens. I am sure that a spark of the 
same magic touched them and worked its 
change in them, too. Perhaps few of them 
have been as defeated and hopeless as I 
was that day, but I am sure that they, too, 
walked into the Earl Carroll Theater, 
where the broadcasts are held, as one 
person and left (Continued on page 80) 




So much had been taken from 
me I'd lost my perspective. 
But I still had Hugh's love. 




The gifts took more room in 
our already-cramped quarters. 
But now I didn't mind a bit. 



23 




FINDS A GIRL FOR JOE 



I WAS pretty happy when I saw 
Joe Davis' letter lying on the 

table that morning not so long 
ago. It had been months since I'd 
even heard from him. The last time 
was a year ago Christmas, when 
he'd phoned from Fort Dix to say 
he'd just been released from the 
Army. 

Of course, you don't actually get 
much of a chance to talk during 
phone calls like that. It's mostly a 
matter of "How are you, anyway?" 
And "It doesn't seem possible that 
it's all over." And "Are you married 
yet?" and things like that. You're 
usually too e'xcited to ask about the 
things you really want to know. 

But "What's cooking?" did get an 
answer from Joe that I was glad to 
hear. He was looking into chicken 
farming, he told me — going to find a 
small place in the country some- 
where, put all his money into it, and 
raise the best birds in the state. 
Knowing that Joe had planned all 
during the war to do just this — and 
knowing too how few of us had 
actually gone to work on the things 
we'd been planning to do when we 
got back — I cheered him on enthu- 
siastically, and extracted a promise 
that he would let me know where 
and how he landed just as soon as 
he was organized enough to write 
about it. That had been a while ago. 




''It seems pointless," Joe said, "to work all day and then come home to sit I 



Gathered to hear about Joe's love problem, in this story writ- 
ten especially for Radio Mirror, are: on the floor, Pepper (Mason 
Adams) ; above him, Mrs. Young (Marion Barney) ; standing, 



24 




by yourself over a can of pork and beans. You begin to wonder what it's for.' 



Betty (Elizabeth Wragge) ; in the armchair, Mr. Young (Thomas 
Chalmers) ; beside him, Linda (Eunice Howard) ; smiling at Joe, 
Carter (Burt Brazier). Listen in daily at 3:30 P.M. EST, on NBC. 



Jic dmmi to 



m isthil . It ikl 

M huwl) }t)0Mj iW/M "fe 

ka/nilt) ik hMMQb. 



"That's planning," I thought as I 
ripped the letter open and started to 
read. "Joe's strong point always was 
drawing up a blueprint, and going 
after what he wanted in the order 
of importance. Wonder if he's made 
his million yet." But the friendly 
glow changed to perplexity, then to 
worry; and, after I'd read the four 
close-written pages through, I whis- 
tled to myself. 

It wasn't the point of the letter 
that bothered me. That was all right 
— there was going to be a state 
Poultry Convention in Centerville, 
about ten miles from Elmwood 
where we lived, and Joe was asking 
if we could put him up for the three 
or four days he'd be in town. "There 
isn't a room for love or money," he 
wrote, "and I seem to remember a 
studio couch on that glassed-in side 
porch at your folks' home. Tell your 
mother I learned to be neat and tidy 
in the Army! And I'll promise not 
to be a bother to her." 

All that sounded like the old, op- 
timistic Joe; but the rest of it, the 
description of his "beat-up house," 
the taxes, the floods, the chicken- 
diseases — Joe had never been one to 
complain, but it was easy enough to 
read between the lines and see 
that things weren't going right at 
all. There, was an overlay of de- 
pression, of (Continued on page 75) 



25 




FINDS A GIRL FOR JOE 



I WAS pretty happy when I saw 
Joe Davis' letter lying on the 
table that morning not so long 
ago. It had been months since I'd 
even heard from him. The last time 
was a year ago Christmas, when 
he'd phoned from Fort Dix to say 
he'd just been released from the 
Army. 

Of course, you don't actually get 
much of a chance to talk during 
phone calls like that. It's mostly a 
matter of "How are you, anyway?" 
And "It doesn't seem possible thai 
it's all over." And "Are you married 
yet?" and things like that. You're 
usually too excited to ask about the 
things you really want to know. 

But "What's cooking?" did get an 
answer from Joe that I was glad to 
hear. He was looking into chicken 
farming, he told me — going to find a 
small place in the country some- 
where, put all his money into it, and 
raise the best birds in the state. 
Knowing that Joe had planned all 
during the war to do just this — and 
knowing too how few of us had 
actually gone to work on the things 
we'd been planning to do when we 
got back — I cheered him on enthu- 
siastically, and extracted a promise 
that he would let me know where 
and how he landed just as soon as 
he was organized enough to write 
about it. That had been a while ago. 



24 




Jw dmsml in) 

m kd. ft "fed 

vmSh ik Imwm, 



Gathered to hear about Joe's love problem, in this story wrii- 

■-" MpeeiaU, for Radio Mirror, are: on the floor, Pepper (Mason 

"" S : aln>vo him ' Mrs. Young (Marion Barney); standing, 



Betty (Elizabeth Wragge); in the armchair, Mr. Young (Thomas 
Chalmers) ; beside him, Linda (Eunice Howard); smiling at Joe, 
Carter (Bnrt Brazier). Listen in daily at 3:30 P.M. EST, on NBC. 



' That's planning," I thought as I 
ripped the letter open and started to 
read. "Joe's strong point always was 
drawing up a blueprint, and going 
after what he wanted in the order 
of importance. Wonder if he's made 
his million yet." But the friendly 
glow changed to perplexity, then to 
worry; and, after I'd read the four 
close-written pages through, I whis- 
tled to myself. 

It wasn't the point of the letter 
that bothered me. That was all right 
—there was going to be a state 
Poultry Convention in Centerville, 
about ten miles from Elmwood 
where we lived, and Joe was asking 
if we could put him up for the three 
or four days he'd be in town. "There 
isn't a room for love or money," he 
wrote, "and I seem to remember a 
studio couch on that glassed-in side 
porch at your folks' home. Tell your 
mother I learned to be neat and tidy 
in the Army! And I'll promise not 
to be a bother to her." 

All that sounded like the old, op- 
timistic Joe; but the rest of it, the 
description of his "beat-up house," 
the taxes, the floods, the chicken- 
diseases— Joe had never been one to 
complain, but it was easy enough to 
read between the lines and see 
that things weren't going right at 
all. There, was an overlay of de- 
pression, of (Continued on page 75) 



25 



When ONE MAN'S FAMILY started out so blithely for the 
weekend, they didn't know that ahead lay trouble for Cliff, hours of 
fear and worry for all and a new perspective for Joan 




(,m Make Mistakes 



"Joan, don't be a drip!" 
Pinky told her. "Come on 
outside and see our snow- 
man. Why, we'll even let 
yoii name him after supper." 




"Please, Grandmother Barbour," Margaret begged, "let us stay up for a while. Let's all sing something!' 
So Jack warmed them up with "Springtime in the Rockies" and one by one they all came in on the chorus. 



"IATHO was it said something about the fog 
WW coming in 'on little cat feet'?" Hazel 
asked, glancing out the window. The big 
living room was warm from the evening fire 
and the older members of the Barbour family 
ranged around it in a comfortable, half-drowsy 
circle. 

"I don't know. But I never think of fog as 
having any body to it; it just drifts in thick 
wisps." Mother Barbour barely raised her 
head from her knitting. "I don't know when 
we've had such a long siege of this dreary 
weather. Or do I say that every January?" 

Father Barbour straightened in his chair. 
"Now, Fanny — you know you think San Fran- 
cisco has the finest climate. Personally, I like 
the fog. I like the way it" comes in over Golden 
Gate. I like the introspective mood it brings. 



Hail and rain and snow are violent forms of 
Nature — sunshine in January is an occasional 
blessing — but the quiet stillness of fog gives San 
Franciscans a chance to turn over their mental 
wastebaskets and empty the year's accumula- 
tions of worries." 

"A pretty choice of words," Claudia told him. 
"Joan's English teacher should have heard you." 

"Still worried about Joan and her crush on 
that Mr. Edwards?" 

Claudia frowned and then sighed. "Oh, I 
know it's normal for a girl of fourteen to have 
an attachment to an older man. It's part of 
growing up, and I suppose — if it has to be any- 
one — an English teacher isn't a bad choice. I 
remember how I thought the doorman at the 
Biloxi Theater the most romantic person when 
I was fourteen and {Continued on page 102) 




In the picture on this page are, standing: Betty (played by Jean Rouverol), Nicky (Tom Collins), 
Cliff (Bart Yarborough) and Hank (Conrad Binyon). Seated: Hazel (Bernice Berwin), Teddy (Wini- 
fred Wolfe), Mother and Father Barbour (Minetta Ellen and Anthony Smythe), Joan (Mary Lou 
Harrington) and Pinky. On the floor: Penny (Anne Whitfield), Margaret (Dawn Bender) and 
Claudia (Barbara Fuller). One Man's Family is heard Sunday afternoons at 3:30 EST, on NBC. 




1, It is winter registration week at the University in the D.A.'s town. The District Attorney and his staff, Miss 
Miller and the ever-present Harrington, are checking the whereabouts and activities of known racketeers, who might 
go to work as they always do when there's an influx of new. people in town. The D.A. is worried. He has heard from 
other cities that colleges and universities have been made the scene of a singularly sordid kind of racket, one in 
which veterans who are trying to enroll for courses under the provisions of the GI Bill of Rights are being robbed. 
According to the D.A.'s information, there are several ways in which the racketeers operate to separate the naive vets 
from their savings, the simplest way being to offer to help a bewildered veteran who is unfamiliar with the routines 
in college offices. While being "helpful," the racketeers take over the money veterans bring along to pay their en- 
trance fees, money which they know will be refunded when their GI money comes through. No such racket has yet been 
reported on the local campus, but the D.A. doesn't want to give any rackets a chance to get started if he can help it. 



Mr. District Attorney is heard every Wednesday night from 9:30 t| 



28 



Mr. D. A. uncovers a vicious 

racket, but warns veterans that 

many like it still operate 





3. Meanwhile, the D.A. has hit on a way to make certain thai 
any campus racketeers will be spotted as soon as they get ,to 
work. Miss Miller is to masquerade as a co-ed at the college. 



2. Already, ex-Wave Marian Hughes is 
in tiie clutches of Alan Hanford, one 
of the racketeers who prey on GI's. 



|R. DISTRICT ATTORNEY has long 
been a champion of the rights of the 
people. He makes crime prevention 
just as much a part of his job as the 
prosecution of criminals after they have 
committed their aggressions. 

In this case, Mr. D.A. did his best to 
think faster than a group of the vilest 
kind of racketeers, but he was not fast 
enough to prevent murder. (Mr. Dis- 
trict Attorney is portrayed by Jay 
Jostyn. Vicki Vola plays Miss Miller; 
Harrington is played by Len Doyle; 
Marian Hughes by Jean Gillespie; Alan 
by Gordon Ay res; Ivy by Grace Coppin 
and Bert by Ward Wilson.) 



10:00 P. M. EST, over the National Broadcasting Company network. 




4. Alan works fast. He's talked the confused Marian into 
giving him all her savings to pay for entrance fees at an- 
other college, Alexander University, where he has "iriends." 



29 




5. Alan Hanford feels his success. He's getting ready for a date with Marian, 
when he'll tell her she's been "accepted" at Alexander and show her a telegram 
supposedly from the Dean. Bert, his partner, who arranges all the telegrams for 
the gang, is trying to get Alan to stop drinking. He's no great brain, but he 
knows liquor is no fit diet for Alan when he's going to need a cool head later. 



Mr. DISTRICT ATTORNEY 



The most cynical kind of criminal 
is the one who preys on the ex- 
servicemen and women of the coun- 
try. In this case, one of the nastiest, 
pettiest rackets against veterans is 
exposed. Mr. D. A. hopes that this 
exposure will serve as a warning to 
all veterans. Neither the police nor 
the most vigilant of D.A.'s could 
possibly keep track of every racket 
or of all racketeers. While every- 
thing that can be done is being done 
to protect the interests of veterans, 
it is important for the veterans to 
be on the alert, too. That there are 
people low enough to take advantage 
of the lack of information and ex- 
perience of the young men and 
women who sacrificed so greatly that 
all of us — including the racketeers — 
might be safe, is a bitter thing. But 
such people do exist and operate. 




j6. Alan's behavior has made Marian suspicious. Turning 
up drunk for their date, Alan not only annoyed Marian 
but he talked altogether too much. Frightened, Marian 
escaped from him and hurried to the D.A.'s office for aid. 




7. Drink-fuddled, Alan has lost his head. In 
his room, faced with Bert who is worried and 
insists on phoning their absent boss, Ivy, Alan 
grows panicky and shoots Bert to silence him. 



30 




9. Alan and Miss Miller have walked into a 
trap themselves. Alan did not expect to find 
Ivy there, especially an Ivy who has just 
read of Bert's murder and knows who did it. 



8. Cold-bloodedly, after dumping Bert's body into the river, 
Alan has returned to his racket. But now, warned by Marian's 
information, Miss Miller has managed to get herself picked 
up by Alan and is baiting the trap that will convict him. 




10. Ivy, who genuinely loved Bert, stupid as he was, has taken her revenge. Infuriated with Alan's treachery and stupidity, 
Ivy has just stabbed him to death. Only afterward does she realize that Miss Miller has been an unwilling witness to the 
murder. Although Ivy has nothing against Miss Miller beyond this, she knows she can't afford to leave her alive. Luckily, 
the District Attorney and Harrington have been shadowing Miss Miller and Alan. They step in and interfere in the nick of time. 




31 






*a* e 



1***°* 



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**op 



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c? % *> 



V 9* ft 




\\je5 ^I»\ice ^ . v \ie ** tfc« 






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,,„ i oV e no more, 
^ thee once, \ ll . the blame , 
I loved thee { as ia the {ore 

Thine ^ not what tho« r^e same? 
Thou art not should v> e the 

What reason __Robert ny 



Yvovn 



M* 



UNPOSTED 

This is a letter I shall never send. 

More for myself, this note 

That never will be read, that has no 

end. 
Remember when I wrote: 
"It still is winter here"? * 
More true today 
Than when you went away. 
Such cold will stay. 
Strange how indelible and clear 
Some things remain — 
The empty station and your train 
Suddenly disappearing down the track, 
Lights changing, red to green; 
The night, enormous, black, 
Rushing to meet me. I have seen 
That moment held immovable, as 

though 
Time had no ebb or flow. 
Perhaps, by thinking back, 
I can be sure of how all seasons pass, 
How snow 

Accepts the ancient miracle of grass; 
Think of a world that once we used 

to know 
Before this winter of the heart began 
To desolate the year. 
Those other letters that I wrote you 

ran 
To many pages. Is there more to say, 
With winter here, 
With winter here to stay? 

— Leslie Nelson Jennings 




/// S' 



cop," V» *° V 






pla^s ver . 




When people oslc 
'« marry me, 

' a .'.T y * ,e " ,ne »V 

> No." 

11 s very nice 

Of people 

T » fhinlc about if 
... . Tn ough! 
' dhole the ehore 

Of sweeping 
And lo eoolc 
Would be a fatk 
In never 
Never 
Marry— — 

Mory Carolyn Davies 




1 "-« not iS g-Jg* 

—Ben Jonson 



-yetcanoot all conceal 
—lord Byron 




By TED MALONE 



Be sure to listen to Ted 
MaJone's morning program, 
Monday, Wednesday, Friday 
at 11:45 EST, over ABC. 




•a held so dear; 

the drearas we a ma de; 
Forgotten were *e a t ely ■ ieOI 

no address. 



Down 4.L pper ' "oedinn « 
"•"• the rood ♦« 9 99«. / w«lt j 

afta ,T I «'W. 

- Ha ^ E/ more Hofd 



,M & 



Met at the tr ■ nged to 

Boo "-t> feS ;■»««£* ,n han <* • • . 

Amoved hf m . yson . I see-_ 

—Carolyn Elli s 



RADIO MIRROR -*^ 
FIFTY DOLLARS «* W 



for the original poem, sent in by 
a reader, selected by Ted Malone 
as the best of that month's poems. 
Five dollars will be paid for each 
other original poem submitted and 
printed on the Between the Book- 
ends page in Badio Mirror. Ad- 
dress your poetry to Ted Malone, 
Badio Mirror, 205 East 42nd 
Street, New York 17, N. Y. This is 
not a contest, but an offer to pur- 
chase poetry for publication in 
Badio Mirror. 




Background to breakfast for Mr. and 
Mrs. Hyatt Dehn is the blue Pacific. 




Since Baby David arrived he's spent 
his time either in the camera's eye . . . 




... Or under the doting "eyes of his 
breathless and dazzled young parents. 



^rfi 



GINNY SIMMS, the brown-haired, blue-eyed singer 
known for four years as the "GI Sweetheart", owes 
her real romance to none other than her million de- 
voted GI friends! What happened was this: 

In June of 1945 she was taken to a party' given by a 
young bachelor- about-Hollywood whom she had never 
met. His name was Hyatt Robert Dehn. She had heard 
of him because many of his friends were film people, 
and he had squired many of the town's most beautiful 
girls. But she had never even seen him before they 
were introduced. When that happened, she had to look 
far up to see his face, since he was six feet three. He 
was also bone-thin, wore his clothes with a casual air, 
and his face, she noted, was a quizzical, highly sophisti- 
cated one. 

But their conversation wasn't the least bit sophis- 
ticated — or quizzical. 

He told her that he was an industrial engineer, and 
currently President of the Defense Housing Project. 
He couldn't have chosen a subject that would better 
have caught Ginny's fancy. More than any other woman 
star, she had been interested in the GI's welfare — sing- 
ing to them in hospitals from coast to coast, organizing 
a radio program expressly for them, planning a post-war 
entertainment bureau for wounded veterans doomed 
to spend long months in hospitals. 

So her face lit up with interest, and she and Hyatt 
began talking. That talk led to other talks — for three 
weeks. Then they were married . . . and by this time 
they're the parents of David Martin Dehn, whose life is 
the most fascinating of any baby in America. 

You don't think so? Well, listen to this: over his crib 
hangs a microphone, which is hooked up to the speaker 
system covering all the rooms of the house — so that 
every time he whimpers Ginny and Hyatt can hear and 
come running. Also, in addition to the usual picture 
record of his progress, they have made weekly record- 
ings of his voice ever since he was seven days old. 
Further, a peep-hole was built in the nursery wall so 
that guests and Dehns can look in on the baby without 
disturbing his nap! 

But even before all these wonders came to pass, young 
David's life was unusual: his trip from the hospital to 
his home was commemorated for all time by a movie. 
It's a private movie, of course, made by his parents. It 
shows Ginny checking out of the hospital with her new 
baby, getting into an ambulance with him, and being 
received by Hyatt at the door of the Dehn home — with 
Hyatt wearing a silk hat and carrying a sign around his 
neck: "I am a proud papa." 

However, this early film (Continued on page 100) 



Ginny Simms is the singing star of the half-hour Ginny Sinuns 
Program heard Friday nights from 9 to 9:30 EST, on CBS 




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Icw&uu wife, vadiaait M<ew MwtAsew—twru/ vtAAt'weto uwwiwn, Acty/ /iine 



35 



<"*>- 



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WKmasmmm 










"Your tremolo is slipping, Schnoz," 
Garrv savs. "You need a \oiee roach 





By way of CBS each Friday comes 



a gifted pair — sprightly Jimmy Durante and 



his brush-topped boy Garry Moore 




"Then," says Garry, "why not our own 
lovely song star, Suzanne Ellers?" 



"¥'VE taken on a new job, Jimmy — in the shoddy, 
1 shabby and shady suburb in the Shropshire sec- 
* tion of Massachusetts — with a flashy, trashy but 
fairly fashionable cash haberdashery " 

. . . and so they're off again and it's another Fri- 
day and once more the Columbia Broadcasting Sys- 
tem brings you those two favorite comedians, Jimmy 
Durante, the Best-Dressed Man — and Garry (Junior) 
Moore, the Child Prodigy who forgot to grow up. 
The walls of Studio A tremble as Jimmy rushes 
hither and yon (he's got friends in Yon) , hob-nobbing 
with the bigwigs, straightening up affairs down in 
Washington, and pausing now and then to lend a 
hand when Garry's own inimitable brand of puckish 
humor gets them into trouble. They both pause, of 
course, when lovely Suzanne Ellers wanders in to 
sing. As Jimmy puts it: "she's just the kind of 
femme to cherchez!" 

Born in 1893 on New York's lower East Side, 
Jimmy Durante began pounding the piano in an old 
Bowery night club — so obscure that he can't, now, re- 
call the name. He never learned to read music, just 
picked it up, and covered possible sour notes with the 
sound of his own outstanding voice. He sharpened 
his repartee working in his father's barbershop, 




"You work pretty well with our announcer Howard Petrie. 
Why not let him teach you?" But Jimmy says no to that. 




"That's my boy!" replies Durante, for this is an idea he 
does like. And all by himself he hits high C above C. 



37 




"Am I not the fairest in the land, Junior? Do 
I not catch the eye, and rivet the attention?" 



THE NOSE AND THE HAIRCUT 

talking very fast at the lathered, and helpless, 
customers. In 1927, the team of Clayton, Jack- 
son, and Durante made vaudeville history, and 
from then on Jimmy worked upward. Ulti- 
mately, Hollywood sent round the world the 
image of The Nose and the raucous sound 
of the voice that makes things sound twice as 
funny as they start out being. Clayton and 
Jackson are still with him, working behind the 
scenes. 

Garry Moore is a good comedian because he 
thinks the whole world is mad — and he thinks 
it's mad because it almost forcibly made him a 
comedian. He wanted to be lots of other things 
— a playwright, a sports announcer, a news an- 
nouncer. But he found his way on to Club 
Matinee — as a comic — and from then on he was 
marked. And the result was that he was pitch- 
forked right into his own network show, co- 
starring with one of our greatest comedians. 

Vocalist on the program, blonde Suzanne 
Ellers started singing professionally when she 
was fifteen. Only twenty- three now, she spent 
several seasons with West Coast orchestras, was 
the voice-behind-the-face in many movies 
where the leading lady was required to sing, 
and couldn't. 

Announcer Howard Petrie wandered into 
radio when, as a securities salesman, he tried to 
sell to the program manager of a Boston radio 
station. When he left, he was an announcer. He 
not only announces the Durante-Moore show 
but is heard in character parts. 

Musical director Roy Bargy started out as a 
"serious" musician, but was won over to jazz 
by Art Tatum. He has been in the popular 
field ever since. 



Waiting for the go-ahead 
signal — Moore, Durante, Musi- 
cal Director Roy Bargy* 
and the orchestra— any Friday 
night at 9:30, on CBg. 



38 




"It says here . . ." 
"But Junior, it's far too 
late," says Jimmy. 




"Listen to that! What a note! What an 
allegretto! What a dulcet, pear-shaped tone!" 




Bargy, Moore and Petrie have to 
listen ... but thev don't have to like it. 








'If-* 



m 



9>' 









\:V 




life Can Be Beautiful is written by Carl 
Bixby and Don Becker, heard daily at .12 PT, 1 MT, 2 CT, 3 
ET, on stations of the National Broadcasting Company 



A* 



J* 



<t 



Three women share first 



THIS month's group of letters is 
the most heart-warming proof we 
have ever had of one odd little fact 
about happiness: there is no age that 
is the right age to discover one's own 
way to it. Every age is right, if we 
make it so. And our proof is this: 
three letters came to us telling stories 
so moving that it was impossible to 
say which of them should be placed 
above the others. One was written by 
a. girl in her teens, one by a grand- 
mother, one by a young woman 
working out a problem of marriage 
and parenthood. To each of these 
women will go a check for thirty-five 
dollars, one-third of the hundred 
dollars that we set aside each month 
for the best letter. 

Dear Papa David: 

I am a girl of just sixteen. My 
mother was taken away to a State 
Hospital when I was three years old. 
There were five of us children, three 
boys and two girls. Our ages were 
ten, eight, six, three and four months 
old. All of us were pretty well broken 
up as well as Dad. Although we were 
all very small then, we remember 
our mother. She was always kind 
and we loved her dearly. Daddy was 
always good to her. 

After she left, all five of us kids 
were going to be put up for adop- 
tion. Everybody wanted to take us. 
But "No" was Dad's reply. He said 
he'd promised Mom he wouln't part 
with us if anything should happen to 




place this month, for Papa David could not decide which of them told the most poignant story 



her. He also said he was going to 
stick it out and raise us up as if 
she'd been with him. He said if they 
took us, they had to take him, too. 
Although he had a stiff battle with 
them, as you might call it, he won. 

He had a hard time keeping the 
three oldest in school and going to 
work, too. Money didn't permit him 
to hire a woman - to look after us. 

Then two of our aunts came to take 
my smallest brother and me to their 
homes to care for us until we were 
old enough for school. We stayed 
with them for six years. It was 
hard for our aunts to let us go after 
keeping us so long, but they thought 
it best that we should all be together. 

When we came back home Tommy 
was six and I was nine years old. 
We sure had a time of it, too. No one 
there to show us but Dad and he 
has been mother and father to us. We 
were healthy and happy. 

Dad has had chances to marry, but 
he says he loves his wife too much 
and says he won't have a stepmother 
over us children. He said if he 
searched the whole world over, he 
could never find a woman to fill 
mother's place in his life. 

In the past fourteen years we've all 
grown, naturally. Bob is twenty- 
four years old and married. He has 
served two years in the states, in 
World War II. Leroy is twenty-one 
years old, married and has served 
three years overseas with General 
Simpson in the 9th Army. He's been 
in England, France, Holland, Scot- 
land, Germany — just about every- 
where. Annalee is nineteen years 



old, married, and has a baby boy. 
He's three weeks old now. He sure 
is cute. I will be seventeen in No- 
vember and have been taking over 
the task of housekeeping ever since 
I was thirteen years old. I don't 
know too much about cooking but 
Dad says I'm okay. With what rec- 
ipes I pick up and what the ladies tell 
me, I manage. I put up twenty-three 
glasses of grape jelly this year. 
I have all the washing to do — on 



RADIO MIRROR OFFERS 
ONE HUNDRED DOLLARS 
EACH MONTH FOR YOUR 

Life Can Be Beautiful Letters 



Have you sent in your Life Can Be 
Beautiful letter yet? If, some time in 
your life, there was a moment when 
the meaning of happiness became 
clear to you, won't you write your 
story to Papa David? For the letter 
he considers best each month, Radio 
Mirror will pay one hundred dollars. 
For each of the other letters received 
which we have space enough to print, 
Radio Mirror Magazine will pay fif- 
teen dollars. Address your letters to 
Papa David, care of Radio Mirror 
Magazine, 205 East 42, New York 17, 
New York. No letters can be returned. 



a wash-board. I keep Tommy in 
school. He's thirteen years old now. 
He's in the sixth grade and is doing 
fine. I have to be just like a mother 
to him. 

I had a ninth grade education so 
I can help him with his lessons. I 
get his meals, keep him clean. Really 
he seems more like my son than my 
brother. He's pretty good to me, too. 
Tommy and I get along well. 

All of us are praying and sticking 
together and looking forward to our 
Mother's homecoming. Some boys 
and girls say they would die if any- 
thing should happen to their mother. 
Well, it did to ours and I hope this 
is a lesson to everyone that thinks 
that way, so they can know that 
Life Can Still Be Beautiful. 

I know from experience. 

Miss B. W. 

<Z$ieMi/n<a& to wouvit 

Dear Papa David: 

Life can be beautiful even though 
you are a widow, too old for em- 
ployment — though still energetic — 
dependent upon your children and 
obliged to live in other people's 
homes. 

My husband and I put our sub- 
stance into raising and college edu- 
cation for two sons and one daughter, 
all in college at once. We went with- 
out a car and much more as our in- 
come was average. My husband said 
over and over, as if it bothered him, 
"If I go first, the children will have 
to look after (Continued on page 93) 



ITS A 







Besides being a mother to young Kit and Jeff, Ruth has a full-time job mothering the eldest male Putnam, too! 

By GEORGE A. PUTNAM 



I SAID, "I have.made up my mind. I want to get mar- 
ried. I want a* home and a family. Now you have to 
make up your mind. If not you," I added, twirling my 
black mustache in what I sincerely hoped was a menacing 
gesture, "then someone else — " 

This is the way — sounds more realistic than romantic, 
doesn't it?— that I proposed to Ruth Carhart, the girl who 
has been my wife for six supremely fulfilled and happy 
years. 

According to Ruth's version of my pedestrian proposal, 
and her reaction to it, the fact that I said I wanted a home 
and a family touched her more deeply than if I had wooed 
her with the tongue of a Shelley. She adds— kidding, no 
doubt — "When you muttered darkly, 'If not you, then 
someone else' — that did it! I just decided no one else 



was going to get you!" As if anyone else — ! 

Prosaic as my proposal may sound, however, the fact 
that 1 was in love with Ruth, completely in love with her, 
motivated what was actually a canny appeal to what I 
knew was the deepest instinct in Ruth — the maternal 
instinct. 

So it was. So it is. 

Ruth likes to describe me as I was when she first met, 
and mothered me. "So thin," she says, "A spare 134 
pounds. In need of having your teeth fixed. Wearing 
those tortoise rims." She likes to recall how she put 
ten pounds on me (easy as pie, the pie she makes, and 
those apple pancakes!) and how she took me, literally by 
the hand, to the dentist and with what a sense of creative 
achievement she replaced the thick-lensed specs with 



42 



HOMMGD 



/%£fis &&£*&£ <* Jrls 







I:: -" !'"■ 
That's Henry, the famous egg-for-breakfast raccoon. 







George and Ruth wrote "our" song— Rain On My Heart 

snappy numbers in a better-looking kind of horn rim. 

Ruth still takes mothering care of me and is exasper- 
ated as a mother with a child, when she can't get me up 
in the morning. (But she does, she does!) Or can't get 
me to have a haircut concerning which, because of Henry 
she is currently meeting with stubborn opposition. 

Henry is a raccoon. We found Henry when we were 
honeymooning (six years and some months from date of 
marriage) in Florida last winter, and adopted him. The 
lease on our apartment in Bronxville specifies "No cats 



or dogs, but it doesn't say anything about children, of 
which we are blessed with two-Jeffrey, called Jeff, four 
and one-half, and Christopher, called Kit, two and one- 
half— and it doesn't say anything about raccoons. 

So we have Henry and, to get back to my present lack 
of sleek barbering, Henry likes my hair long. He likes to 
run his fingers through it. Henry also likes four and 
one-half minute eggs for breakfast. When I walked into 
the kitchen the other morning with my stop-watch in 
hand and said to Ruth, "Henry likes his eggs four and 
one-half minutes," I didn't think I had that long to live. 
When I added, defensively, "You have to tempt Henry" 
Ruth called heaven to witness that although there was a 
truck strike on and she couldn't get meat for the children 
she must "tempt" Henry! 

Just the same, I take good care of Henry. A few weeks 
ago, I took him to the vet in charge of the Bronx Zoo 
for a check-up. When I came home, in a glow because 
I d been told Henry's coat is fine, his weight normal, his 
reflexes admirable, Ruth, torn between the urge to homi- 
cide or hysteria, said I could scarcely be happier if I had ■ 
taken the children to the pediatrician and been told they 
made Superman look puny! 

In her heart, however, Ruth loves Henry as much- 
well, almost as much— as I do and the kids love him more 
if such be possible. One of these days, we hope to have a 
small farm, somewhere in Connecticut, perhaps, and then 
Henry will have the right sort of friends. Jeff wants a 
zebra and I would like to have one of those small kanga- 
roos, and a beaver. . . . 

But this^is not the story of Hrnry— this is the story 
of Ruth and me, and how we met, (Continued on page 87) 



43 



PORTIA BLAKE SETTLES A 





^v 



The law itself has no heart, not even for people in love. But there's 
nothing to keep a lawyer from helping to bring a hoy and a girl together 



Lucille Wall as PORTIA BLAKE 




the star of Portia Faces Lite, 
heard daily at 5:15 EST, on NBC. 



BEING a lawyer brings you into contact with 
all sorts of people you might otherwise never 
meet — good people and bad, people who love, 
and people who hate and most of them in trouble 
of one sort or another. And being a woman 
lawyer, I've heard it said, makes you much more 
apt to become involved — because women are sup- 
posed to be so much more emotional than men, 
you know — with these people. Well, that may be 
so, or it may not. But I do know that I can re- 
member cases I've worked on where I've been 
pretty thankful for something inside me, call it 
sympathy or call it curiosity or what will you, 
that has impelled me to delve deeper into circum- 
stances which seemed, on the surface, to add up to 
what are called "open and shut cases." If that's 
being female about my profession — well, I'm aw- 
fully glad I am! 

I remember one case in particular that wasn't 
really my case at all. I heard an argument, and a 
girl crying, and I saw a boy with love and misery 
and pride warring in his heart, and . . . well, 
there I was, all of a sudden, right in the middle of 
it. Let me tell you about it. 

I met the Evans girl and the Parrish boy because 
I took a trip to Lewisburg nearly three years ago. 
And that came about because I'd had a letter from 
my husband, Walter, who was overseas at the time 
with the Office of Strategic Services, asking me to 
see if I could be of assistance to a brother officer. 
In due time this brother officer, Lucian Thompson, 
turned up, told me about a lawsuit involving som>_ 
property belonging to his family, and I set off for 
Lewisburg, where the property was located, to 
make a search of the records. Somehow, since il 
was Walter who had asked me to help Captain 
Thompson, I wanted to do the search myself — in 
some obscure way, it made me feel closer to 
Walter, who had been away so long, ?.nd whom 
I missed so sorely. 

Dickie— my son, Walter's step-son — felt + .he same 
way about it. Dickie had made some sort of elah- 



44 




"Ridiculous!" Aunt Edith exploded. "I never in all my life heard anything so insane!" 



orate plan for the time which I would need to be 
in Lewisburg, but when I told him that Walter had 
asked me to go, he gave up the plans without a 
murmur. Blood couldn't possibly tie those two 
closer, my husband and my son, which makes me 
warmly happy every time I think of it. So Dickie 
and Miss Daisy, our housekeeper, saw me to the 
train, and off I went to Lewisburg — thinking I 
was going to make a search into musty old files, 
never realizing that I was going to search, instead, 
into the hearts of a boy and a girl who loved each 
other so much, and an old woman who had not 
learned in all her years that real love is selfless. 
Lewisburg, seat of Rimrock County, is an old 
town for the Midwest, with a really lovely Colonial 



courthouse and square, a modern factory to keep 
it alive, and a busy little Main Street. I registered 
at the hotel there on that windy March morning, 
and then went straight to the courthouse, said I 
was Portia Blake, a lawyer, and asked permission 
to search the records in the Thompson case. 

Everyone was very helpful — especially a pretty, 
dark girl who led me to the law library. She 
found the books I asked for, made a couple of 
very helpful suggestions, saw that I was comfort- 
able, and started away. At the door she turned 
to say, "If there's anything else you want, please 
call me, Miss Blake. I'll be right down the hall — 
and my name is Maxine Evans, by the way." 

She smiled, and I smiled (Continued on page 63) 




NINE- YEAR- OLD Norma Jean Nilsson could be 
any little girl who lives next door. 
Any little girl, preferably, who's a baby Bern- 
hardt, has the I.Q. of a genius, and happens to be in 
love with Jack Carson. "I adore him," she says en- 
thusiastically. "I'd like to marry him when I'm 
eighteen." 

Which is going a little beyond the good neighbor 
policy, and beyond what's expected of her as Jack 
Carson's next-door-neighbor, on his CBS program on 
Wednesdays. But Norma Jean always gives more than 
enough on everything. One reason, no doubt, why 
she's the foremost child radio actress today. 

The reason also why she could still be the little girl 
living next door to you. She's unaffected, unspoiled 
and sweet. An intellectual torn-girl who likes to play 
hopscotch, skate, and can play a convincing game of 
"Cowboys and Villains." 

Life for her partially revolves around her dolls, a 



beloved grey alley cat called "Pinky," and a tiny turtle 
named "Flower." She bought the turtle at a variety 
store in Times Square, smuggled him back to Holly- 
wood in a cottage cheese carton, and he lives in style 
in an old discarded blue granite roaster now. "Pinky" 
is unimpressed with their present fame, and it takes 
some tall urging to get him to concede to photog- 
raphers' requests and pose for special shots with 
Norma. "Please look at me, Pinky," she begged on 
one occasion recently. "You're a big shot now. You 
have to do what they say." 

Her father, Dr. Arthur V. Nilsson, a brilliant man, 
is Professor of Anatomy at the Los Angeles College 
of Chiropractic. Her mother, who was studying to be 
a chiropractor when she married, was also talented in 
dramatics, and Norma inherits her own emotional 
ability from her. She has an older brother, Arthur, 
Jr., thirteen, who wants to be a shortwave "ham" 
radio operator, and to whom (Continued on page 90) 






46 






w 




(D)(D)ff 





She's in love with Jack Carson and 
plans to marry him when she grows np. 
So Wednesday night at CBS is Norma's 
favorite time of all — that's when she 
is on the air with Jack Carson's show. 



The rest of the week, Norma spends 
her time with toys, pets, and things 
like having Mother fix her hair and fit 
her clothes — like any other little girl. 




Qfb&UM^y 



NINE- YEAR-OLD Norma Jean Nilsson could be 
any little girl who Uves next door. 
Any little girl, preferably, who's a baby Bern- 
hardt, has the I.Q. of a genius, and happens to be in 
love with Jack Carson. "I adore him,'; she says en- 
thusiastically. "I'd like to marry rum when Im 

ei wS' is going a little beyond the good neighbor 
policy and beyond what's expected of her as JacK 
Carson's next-door-neighbor, on his CBS program on 
Wednesdays. But Norma Jean always gives more than 
enough on everything. One reason, no doubt, why 
she's the foremost child radio actress today. 

The reason also why she could still be the little girl 
living next door to you. She's unaffected, unspoiled 
and sweet. An intellectual torn-girl who likes to play 
hopscotch, skate, and can play a convincing game of 
"Cowboys and Villains." 

Life for her partially revolves around her dolls, a 



11 „»t called "Pinky." and a tiny turtle 
bel0V f.^ ey ?' y She^ught the Ule at a variety 
named "Flower f he ^Lgled him back to Holly- 
store in Times Square^ *nugg ^ ^ & ^ 

W °° d ^/difrded S Tg anite 'roaster now. "Pinky" 

m an . oM ^^tith their present fame, and it takes 
is unimpressed w h their P^ ^ ^ g _ 

S Terf rSL and posTfor special shot, with 
SSS Sflook at^me, Pinky," she begged on 
occasion recently. "You're a big shot now. You 

ha Z^^ h Dr th ZS'v. Nilsson, a brilliant man, 
IsSofesSr of Anatomy at the Los Angeles College 
of Chiropractic. Her mother, who was studying to be 
a chiropractor when she married, was also talented in 
dramatics, and Norma inherits her own emotional 
ability from her. She has an older brother, Arthur, 
Jr thirteen, who wants to be a shortwave ham 
radio operator, and to whom (Continued on page 90) 



. \«y»ia fwrv Jmbfom Ms* &ta/v- 




'©©IP 



46 





She's in love with Jack Carson and 
plans to marry him when she grows np. 
So Wednesday night at CBS is Norma's 
favorite time of all — that's when she 
is on the air with Jack Carson's show. 



The res* of the week, Norma spends 
her time with toys, pets, and things 
like having Mother fix her hair and fit 
her clothes— like any other little girl. 






QKYW WYl 




Georgia and Kay Kyser live in a tiny house, 



but everything important fits into it — including 



Kim. And the door is always on the latch 



Kay Kyser's program is heard on 
NBC, Wednesdays at 10:30 P.M. EST. 



HEATHER ROAD, which clings to a woodsy 
slope back of Beverly, is a very small and 
inconspicuous street, and the house where 
Kay Kyser, Georgia, and eight-month-old Kim- 
berly live, is an equally small (for these parts) 
and inconspicuous house. A pretty house — 
strictly honeymoon cottage with a vine-covered 
doorway and brown shingle roof. But it is small 
— maybe a little too small for the Kyser com- 
bination, where you have to mix one confirmed 
bachelor (Kay celebrated his 39th birthday be- 
fore he gave in to the matrimonial urge) and one 
frustrated interior decorator. Georgia, who, as 
America's most famous model, lived out of a 
hat box for years, admits to a terrible yen for 
"fixing up" houses. 

Kay, until June 1944, when Georgia and her 
hat box moved into the Heather Road house, had 
lived in a cozy Utter of old sheet music, new 
magazines and his great grandmother's furniture. 
The elements of the bachelor house are still 
there — the old sheet music and the new maga- 
zines neatly catalogued in antique cabinets in 
Kay's room, the drop-leaf tables, Hitchcock 
chairs and spool beds — after all they were 
priceless antiques — displayed to best advantage 
throughout the house. Georgia may be an ama- 
teur decorator, but she knows a pine sawbuck 
table when she sees one. The changes are subtle, 
but they're there. You don't have to invade 
Kimberly's nursery to find out that this is no 
longer a bachelor's abode. 



You could, for instance, just count the pots of 
green stuff in the living room. 

"Never marry a girl," Kay advises, "until you 
find out how she feels about ivy." Kay learned 
about this symptom of his wife's secret disease 
too late. He would have you believe that he and 
Kim are soon to die a horrible death, smothered 
to death in a Georgia- made jungle of green 
leaves. 

"Georgia," he complains bitterly, "puts ivy 
in everything. In my grandmother's copper cof- 
fee pot — ivy. In my Great Uncle Oscar's brass 
spittoon — ivy. A thing like this has got to end 
somewhere." 

"Somewhere" turned up, in the day these 
pictures were taken for Radio Mirror, in the 
shape of the old cobbler's bench which the Kysers 
use for a coffee table in their den. 

A cobbler's bench, as even most interior dec- 
orators know, was once a functional object. Cob- 
blers — shoe-makers, to you — sat astride the low 
bench at one end, fished supplies out of a stack 
of drawers at the other end, and cobbled. Now, 
rubbed to a fine luster, their drawers filled with 
cigarettes, coasters and matches, their benches 
loaded with hors d'oeuvres, they show up in the 
very best living rooms. 

Georgia had worried about Kay's cobbler's 
bench — like all the other old pieces in the house 
a genuine antique — for a long time. The black 
leather seat, she felt, was simply disreputable. 
With photographers coming, something had to be 




sers 




When KAY KYSER married GEORGIA CARROLL, he thought he was merely marrying the girl who had been one of 
America's most sensational cover beauties, and whose career as a singer was getting well under way with the 
Old Professor's own orchestra. But besides all this, he got, he says, the world's most frustrated interior dec- 
orator. She's raided his Southern family for antiques, used them in strange and wonderful ways, added an elaborate 
nursery to his small bachelor establishment— so that now it's a home, and one of the happiest around Hollywood. 



49 




c 



cme an 



JL Unit tin 



KAY K Y S 1 R S 



Georgia lived out of a hat box; Kay lived in a clutter. 
Marriage has changed both their lives — and they love it. 




Kim's well-equipped nursery comes with space 
for an eager father to try his hand at helping. 




J,S /: 




Ivy, Kay fears, will soon take up more 
room than the family; it's everywhere. 



done. So, just before the cameraman — and Kay — ar- 
rived, she ripped out the timeworn and offensive leather, 
revealing a nice, round hole. Just the place, ultimately, 
for a plant. In the meantime, a round pewter tray was 
the best she could do. 

"What have you done to my cobbler's bench?" Kay 
shouted upon sighting the improvement. Georgia had just 
taken out that "mangey old black leather." And what 
was she going to put in its place? Some more ivy? 
Georgia had thought of using a plant. 

"And where," Kay wanted to know, "are you going to 
put the hors d'oeuvres? When you get a hundred people 
in this four by five room and they want some hors 
d'oeuvres, where are you going to put the hors 



50 





Airing Kimberly is a daily family project; 
it's usually a slow parade on the terrace. 



When it's spoonbread or corn pone, Madelon 
gives over to the specialist from North Carolina. 



Like every other Hollywood infant, Kimberly makes visits to the pho- 
tographer as regular a part of her routine as visits to the pediatrician. 




d'oeuvres?" He conjured up a host of starving guests. 

Georgia assured him the bench with a nice green plant 
in the center would be twice as attractive. Kay groaned. 
"It isn't supposed to be attractive," he said, "It is sup- 
posed to be used. And you have just fixed it so all we 
can do is smell it. Put it back, I tell you. I won't let 
you desecrate a hundred-year-old cobbler's bench." 

No decision had been handed down as this article went 
to press. 

On other matters of "improvement" — and to give 
Georgia the credit she deserves, the total effect is de- 
lightfully informal and attractive — Kay has given ground 
gracefully. 

As a practical man, he would never have thought a 



pretty girl would want her bureau cluttered up with a 
bunch of blue and white bowls with setting hens on them. 

"Egg dishes," Georgia explained. "Very old." 

Kay in his bachelor days would never have hounded 
the antique shops to find egg dishes for a bedroom. 
Neither, probably, would he have warmed up to a gold 
and white canopied bed and blue and white patterned 
wall paper, but he has to admit — now that he has a wife 
with gold hair and blue eyes to show it off — that it's 
really very pretty. ■ 

"Just don't go collecting seven-foot beds," is the way 
he concedes defeat. "Remember this is a little house." 

Georgia's collecting — like the ivy mania — came as a 
bit of a shock to a man who (Continued on page 72) 



51 




DR. CARSON McVICKER, chief- 
of-staff of the Neuropsychiatric 
Institute, is a psychiatrist of 
recognized achievement. Hand- 
some and gracious, she is also 
very wilful, so used to having her 
own way that she cannot adjust 
to any denial of it. The frustra- 
tion of her love for Dr. Jim Brent, 
plus trouble with her unmanage- 
able husband, have brought Car- 
son to a state of nervous collapse, 
(played by Charlotte Manson) 



DR. JAMES BRENT, Carson's 
assistant at the Neuropsychiatric 
Institute of New York, is the 
focus of a tangled emotional 
situation. An extremely capable 
doctor, he admires his brilliant, 
beautiful chief for her profes- 
sional competence, but all his 
love is for his wife Carol and 
their adored little girl Janie. 
The warmest friendship is all 
that Dr. Jim can offer Carson, 
(played by Matt Crowley) 



ROAD 

OF 

LIFE 



To know his own heart is not always easy, 
even for the doctor who is trained to 
solve the emotional problems of others 



52 














CAROL BRENT, Dr. Jim's lovely, petite wife, is trying desperately to overcome the natural jealousy she feels 
toward Carson— an effort made no easier by Carson's public avowal of her love for Jim. But Carol has lived through 
one unhappy marriage; all her strength of character and bitter experience are behind her determination to make this 
marriage a success. These qualities of character, as well as her beauty and the charm of her daughter Janie, are find- 
ing their way into the portrait that IRWIN DALEY is painting of the mother and child. Largely because of the per- 
sonalities of his subjects, Daley, who has never before done anything worth while, is turning out a real masterpiece. 
(Carol is played by Marion Shockley; Daley is played by John Briggs) 



53 




ISOBEL DALEY, Carson's secre- 
tary, tired of supporting her shift- 
less father, artist Irwin Daley, forced 
him to go to the Brent home to do 
a portrait of Frances Brent. But in- 
stead of painting. Frances Irwin is 
doing a portrait of Carol and Janie. 
(played by Mary Patton) 



ALICE RANDALL, a school teacher in the small Pennsylvania 
village of Merrimac, makes her home at the same farmhouse 
where Carson and Frank Dana are living. A victim of Brewster's 
disease, which seriously incapacitates her, Alice will not allow the 
illness to embitter her. She remains simple and gentle, with a 
sweetness of personality that makes her friendship desirable, 
(played by Terry Rice) 






FRANK DANA, former war correspondent, 
lives with the farm family to whose home Carson 
came for her much-needed rest. Frank has seen 
a vast amount of tragedy and destruction; he 
is sharp-tongued and rather bitter, and when he 
met Carson was particularly unamiable to her. 
His estimate of her changed somewhat, how- 
ever, when his caustic comments helped to ma- 
neuver the wealthy Carson into a genuine attempt 
to do something constructive with her money, 
(played by John Larkin) 



BUTCH BRENT is Dr. Jim's foster son, a 
young doctor recently out of the Army and 
not yet set up in practice. Civilian life 
is being made harder rather than easier for 
genial, affectionate Butch by his bride 
FRANCES, a handsome, flamboyant young 
woman whose orphanage childhood left her 
with a tremendous fear of poverty, and a 
fierce determination to obtain money and 
position. Hard, callous, ill-educated, 
Frances regards Butch merely as a key to 
security, but her inability to fit in with 
his family makes her defiant and reckless. 
(Eileen Palmer and Lawson Zerbe) 




Road of Life is heard twice a day, Monday 
through Friday, at 10:30 A.M. EST on 
NBC, and again at 1:45 P.M. EST, over CBS. 



55 




ISOBEL DALEY, Carson's secre- 
tary, tired of supporting her shift- 
less father, artist Irwin Daley, forced 
him to go to the Brent home to do 
a portrait of Frances Brent. But in- 
stead of painting. Frances Irwin is 
doing a portrait of Carol and Janie. 
(played by Mary Patton) 



ALICE RANDALL, a school teacher in the small Pennsylvania 
village of Merrimac, makes her home at the same farmhouse 
where Carson and Frank Dana are living. A victim of Brewster's 
disease, which seriously incapacitates her, Alice will not allow the 
illness to embitter her. She remains simple and gentle, with a 
sweetness of personality that makes her friendship desirable, 
(played by Terry Rice) 




FRANK DANA, former war correspondent, 
lives with the farm family to whose home Carson 
came for her much-needed rest. Frank has seen 
a vast amount of tragedy and destruction; he 
is snarptongued and rather bitter, and when he 
met Carson was particularly unamiable to her. 
His estimate of her changed somewhat, how- 
ever, when his caustic comments helped to ma- 
neuver the wealthy Carson into a genuine attempt 
to do something constructive with her money, 
(played by John Larkin) 




BUTCH BRENT is Dr. Jim's foster son, a 
young doctor recently out of .the Army and 
not yet set up in practice. Civilian life 
is being made harder rather than easier for 
genial, affectionate Butch by his bride 
FRANCES, a handsome, flamboyant young 
woman whose orphanage childhood left her 
with a tremendous fear of poverty, and a 
fierce determination to obtain money and 
position. Hard, callous, ill-educated, 
Frances regards Butch merely as a key to 
security, but her inability to fit in with 
his family makes her defiant and reckless. 
(Eileen Palmer and Lawson Zerbe) 



o«d of Uf e | g he,^! lw£ce „ day> Monday 

J»««eh Friday, at 10:30 A.M. EST on 

' and •««•» at 1:45 P.M. EST, over CBS. 




Onions, green peppers, to- 
matoes combine colorfully 
and tastily. Let experience 
guide you in the seasoning. 







S^OsK. IS? 



%'tyen c^t/ie ilLUd, t/u& Aa^ce-. 

at Acme, asrid afifwtyinff, yewyvyMJvev-e 



Pomegranate seeds in halves 
of alligator pear make an ex- 
otic salad to go well with a 
simple One Dish Egg Dinner. 



0^ m J^°^O 



N 



in a saVceboat 




fTVERY once in awhile when the newspapers 
111 are filled with discouraging stories about 
" disagreements between countries all over 
the world I find myself wondering if we are 
going about the business of international rela- 
tionships in the most direct and efficient way. 
I know some of you will feel like telling me 
to stick to the things I know about and leave 
international affairs to statesmen who are 
trained for the job. But even so, and even 
though I would not for the world seem to 
criticize their work, I can't help thinking that 
there is altogether too much emphasis placed 
on racial differences and not nearly enough on 
racial similarities, and that if we would try 
harder to overlook the differences and concen- 
trate on the things we have in common with 
other countries we might find after awhile that 
the differences are not insurmountable. Of 
course, since my two great interests are music 
and food, my personal observations are in those 
fields. I know that people of all nations respond 
to the same things in music; every country has 
songs of home and childhood and mother love, 
melodies of young romance and gay dancing 
tunes. They are not the same songs, of course, 
but they are the musical expression of feelings 
which are universal regardless of nationality. 
I have found, too, that the same foods are used 
in various nations, prepared in similar fashion. 
For instance, there is the very delectable com- 
bination of onions, green peppers and tomatoes. 
It is so popular with food lovers in our own 
and many other countries that I believe it's a 
valid indication that, if we investigated, we'd 
find a lot of other shared tastes and ideas. 

A sauce made of onions, green peppers and 
tomatoes is simple to prepare. Onions and green 
peppers are year-round in the markets, and the 
tomatoes you use may be either fresh or canned, 
or you might even experiment with the de- 
hydrated ones. Since it can be used as the 
basis for an almost endless variety of recipes 
I have called it my basic sauce. 
Basic Sauce 

2 tbls. margarine or other shortening 
1 clove garlic (optional) 

1 medium onion, chopped fine 

2 green peppers, chopped fine 

3 fresh tomatoes, chopped fine (or equivalent in canned 
tomatoes) 

Vz tsp. salt; pinch pepper 



Saute onion and garlic in margarine, using 
low flame, for 2 to 3 minutes. Add green pepper 
and continue cooking, stirring occasionally, 
until onion is clear and golden. Add tomatoes, 
salt and pepper and continue cooking until all 
vegetables are tender and sauce is rich and 
thick. There is almost no limit to the ways in 
which this basic sauce can be used. One way 
is Eggs Aleppo, which I so have named because 
the friend who gave me the recipe is a native 
of that city. 

Eggs Aleppo 

Basic Sauce 
2 to 4 eggs 
1 package wide noodles 

Prepare sauce as directed. Cook noodles in 
boiling salted water until tender. When sauce 
is finished, break eggs carefully over the top, 
allowing 1 or 2 per serving. Bake in medium 
oven until eggs are set. Arrange cooked, well- 
drained noodles on serving plates and top each 
with a portion of the basic sauce and egg 
combination. A variation of this recipe is the 
one-dish egg dinner which we have illustrated 
on the opposite page. 

One-Dish Egg Dinner 

Cook onion and green peppers as directed 
for basic sauce. Turn into well greased indi- 
vidual baking dishes. Add the diced tomatoes, 
raw, and to each baking (Continued on page 113) 



By 

KATE SMITH 




RADIO MIRROR 

FOOD COUNSELOR 

Listen Monday through Friday at noon when Kate 
Smith Speaks, and Sunday nights at 6:30 EST, 
when Kate Smith Sings — on the CBS network. 



RADIO MIRROR for BETTER LIVING 



57 



"" .,'.',... .:..: 






K^v^s^^PP' 




For decoration, or to con- 
ceal damage on a plain parch- 
ment shade, cut out portions 

of the design on ready-pjijlecil 
wallpaper in ivy or floral 
pattern, apply in silhouette. 



58 





Julie Sierens experiment* irith pre~pasted paper 



IF you think that a penthouse off Fifth Avenue 
would be the answer to all your dreams, take the 

word of Julie Stevens, who plays the title role in 
CBS's The Romance of Helen Trent, that there is 
more to dreams than dreaming them. 

Julie has the penthouse. It was her first apartment 
to do with as she pleased, for she had gone straight 
from the family home in Ferguson, a suburb of St. 
Louis, to a succession of hotels and furnished apart- 
ments. But — it's tiny. "I'd had visions," she said, 
"of acres of carpeted floors, huge wing chairs . . . 
but the tape measure proved that if I put that kind 
of furniture into this room we couldn't get into it 
ourselves." 

So she kept the floors and walls dark, because con- 
trasting colors reduce the size of a room. Instead of 
the wing chairs of her dream, she has two small over- 
stuffed ones — just right to relax in before dinner 
while she and her husband (Charles Underhill, a 
director of short commercial films for RKO-Pathe) 
bring each other up to date on the day's activities. 

"Closets are the hardest to keep in order," Julie 
told us. "We started out right, but all of a sudden 
we had a chaotic collection of boxes of all sizes and 
colors." Casting about for a means of restoring order, 
Julie decided that a ready-pasted wallpaper was the 
answer. She chose an all-over pattern of green leaves 
on white ground, which comes packaged with a border 
design of horizontal green stripes on white. Out came 
the boxes to be refurbished — "and everything went 
back into place that same day!" 

From that beginning, Julie went on. She covered 
her cook book and a matching box to hold kitchen 
gadgets; she's going to line dresser drawers with it — 
it won't slip, of course, as the usual dresser-lining 
will; and in china cabinets it's an effective background. 



Miscellaneous boxes can be trans- 
formed into sets ■ by covering with 
the same, or blending, wallpaper. 




For address and engagement 
books, or a whole desk set, try 
smart stripes, diagonal or straight. 



Dill MIRROR' 



Patterns for Living 




First attempt at an evening 
dress: lustrous black- velvet, 
boned bodice outlined in gold- 
embroidered satin. For cock- 
tails (below) two-piece black 
taffeta, rounded peplum bal- 
anced by back-flaring skirt; 
add glamor with pearls at the 
throat, brief black satin gloves. 





'Ot&ttf 




—if tfuu matte them yourself, as Louise liirh does 



LOUISE FITCH, of the cast of CBS's 
Big Sister, started to sew two years 
ago. "I was fed up with high prices 
and poor quality," she said, "as who isn't? 
But I didn't even have the time for a 
sewing course. I just got some material 
and a pattern and went ahead." 

"Follow directions" became her law, 
after one or two failures because the 
directions seemed too complicated. And 
"start on cheap material" is her advice 
to beginners. Suits are difficult, but 
Louise has achieved two. The white one 
(right) fits perfectly, boasts notched 
lapels and bound buttonholes of profes- 
sional precision. She wears it with navy. 

Some of her best things have been ac- 
cidents. The fawn whipcord (bottom 
right) came from a friend as a protective 
wrapping around a package. The ivory 
gold- embroidered satin on the evening 
dress was a gift from actress Blanche 
Yurka. Louise made this for a special 
occasion — opening night of the Horse 
Show. "We were going to dinner first," 
she recalled. "Dinner was six-thirty — 
and at six I was putting in the hem!" 
But at six-thirty the horsehair-stiffened 
skirt was a graceful swirl around her 
feet as out she went to dinner. 

"And the best thing," Louise says, "is 
that if you make your things well, of 
good materials, they go on for years." 





Royal blue stripes while 
wool. Gored skirt, jack- 
et with waistline dart 
ending in slanted pock- 
ets, are detail-perfect. 




Accessories score: with fawn 
whipcord skirt and black jer- 
sey blouse, flat black suedes, 
and broad medallioned belt. 
Green python pumps, belt, 
bag for hunter's-green wool; 
hat-trim, scarf of pale pink. 



RADIO MIRROR'S Patterns for Living 



59 



R 
HI 

60 



INSIDE RADIO 



All Times Below Are EASTERN STANDARD.TIMES 
For Correct CENTRAL STANDARD TIME, Subtract One Hour 



S U N D A Y 


A.M. 


NBC 660k 


.MBS 710k 


ABC 770k 


CBS 380k 


8:30 
8:45 






Earl Wild 


Caroline Calling 


9:00 
9:15 
9:30 
9:40 


Story to Order 
Words and Music 


People's Church 
Tone Tapestries 


White Rabbit Line 


Renfro Valley Folks 
Johnson Family 


10:00 
10:15 
10:30 
10:45 


Bible Highlights 
Circle Arrow Show 


Radio Bible Class 
Voice of Prophecy 


Message of Israel 
Southernaires 


Church of the Air 
Church of the Air 


11:00 
11:15 
11:30 
11:45 


Solitaire Time 


Bible Institute 
Reviewing Stand 


Fine Arts Quartet 
Hour of Faith 


Wings Over Jordan 
Salt Lake Tabernacle 



AFTERNOON PROGRAMS 



12:00 

12:15 
12:30 
12:45 


Eternal Light 


Pilgrim Hour 
Lutheran Hour 


String Orchestra 


Invitation to Learn- 
ing 


1:00 
1:15 
1:30 
1:45 


America United 
Chicago Round Table 


Crime Cases 
Radio Warblers 
Juvenile Jury 
Opportunity U.S.A. 


Johnny Thompson 
Leo Durocher 
Sammy Kaye 


People's Platform 
Time For Reason 


2:00 
2:15 
2:30 
2:45 


James Melton 


Married For Life 
Veterans' Information 


Warriors of Peace 
National Vespers 


Stradivari Orch. 


3:00 
3:15 
3:30 
3:45 


Carmen Cavallaro 
One Man's Family 


Open House 

Crimes of Careless- 
ness 


Dr . Danfield 

From Hollywood 
Samuel Pettingill 


N. V. Philharmonic 


4:00 

4:15 
4:30 
4:45 


The Quiz Kids 
Grand Marquee 


House of Mystery 
True Detective 


Are These Our 
Children 

Green Hornet 


Hour of Charm 


5:00 
5:15 
5:30 
5:45 


NBC Symphony 


The Shadow 
Quick As A Flash 


Darts for Dough 
David Harding 


The Family Hour 
Hoagy Carmichael 



EVENING PROGRAMS 



6:00 
6:15 
6:30 
6:45 


The Catholic Hour 
Bob Burns 


Those Websters 
Nick Carter 


Sunday Evening 

Party 
Willie Piper 


Ozzie and Harriet 
Kate Smith Sings 


7:00 
7:15 
7:30 
7:45 


Jack Benny 
Fitch Bandwagon 


Symphonic Notes 
Dance Orchestra 


Drew Pearson 
Stump the Authors 


Gene Autry 
Blondie 


8:00 
8:15 
8:30 
8:45 


Edgar Bergen 
Fred Allen 


Meditation Hour 
Special Investigator 


Paul Whiteman 
The Clock 


Sam Spade 
Crime Doctor 


9:00 
9:15 
9:30 
9:45 


Manhattan Merry- 
Go- Round 
American Album 


Exploring the 

Unknown 
Double or Nothing 


Walter Winchell 
Louella Parsons 
Jimmie Fidler 
Policewoman 


Hildegarde 
Eddie Bracken 


10:00 
10:15 
10:30 
10:45 
11:00 


Don Ameche 

Meet Me at Parky's 


Latin American 
Serenade 


Theatre Guild 


Take It Or Leave It 
We the People 




the skeptical but warm- 
hearted switchboard operator on 
CBS's That's Finnegan, Thursdays. 




— one of the seven musical Mas« 

sey brothers and sisters, made 

his first public appearance at a 

party at the local jail at the age 

of eleven, billed as "the best 

violinist in the whole county". 

Known as The Westerners, the Massey family has 

been in radio for many years, but only recently has 

Curt broken away from western ballads to sing, on 

CBS and MBS, the "vocal velvet" songs he likes. 







M O 


N 


DAY 




A.M. 


NBC 668k 


MBS 710k 


ABC 770k 


CBS 880k 


8:30 
8:45 










9:00 
9:15 
9:30 
9:45 


Honeymoon in New 
York 


Shady Valley Folks 


Breakfast Club 


This Is New York 


10:00 
10:15 
10:30 

10:45 


Lee Sullivan 
Lora Lawton 
Road of Life 

Joyce Jordan 


Once Over Lightly 
Faith In Our Time 
Say It With Music 


My True Story 

Hymns of All 

Churches 
Club Time 


Joe Powers 
Evelyn Winters 
Time to Remember 


11:00 
11:15 
11:30 
11:45 


Fred Waring 

Jack Berch 
David Harum 


• 
Tell Your Neighbor 
Bill Harrington 
Victor H. Lindlahr 


Tom Breneman 

Gilbert Martyn 
Ted Malone 


Arthur Godfrey 
Rosemary 



AFTERNOON PROGRAMS 



12:00 






Glamour Manor 


Kate Smith Speaks 


12:15 




Morton Downey 




Aunt Jenny 


12:30 




Quaker City Serenade 


At Your Request 


Helen Trent 


12:45 




Naval Academy Band 




Our Gal Sunday 


1:00 




Editor's Diary 




Big Sister 


1:15 








Ma Perkins 


1:30 




Jackie Hill 




Young Dr. Malone 


1:45 




John J. Anthony 




Road of Life 


2:00 


Today's Children 






Second Mrs. Burton 


2:15 


Women in White 


Smile Time 


Ethel and Albert 


Perry Mason 


2:30 


Masquerade 


Queen For A Day 


Bride and Groom 




2:45 


Light of the World 






Rose of Dreams 


3:00 


Life Can Be Beautiful 


Heart's Desire 


Ladies Be Seated 


Cinderella Inc. 


3:15 


Ma Perkins 


Judy Lang Songs 






3:30 


Pepper Young 


Hospitality Club 




Winner Take All 


3:45 


Right to Happiness 


Jackie Hill 


Jean Colbert 




4:00 


Backstage Wife 


Erskine Johnson 


Tommy Riggs Show 


House Party 


4:15 


Stella Dallas 


Johnson Family 






4:30 


Lorenzo Jones 


Sea Hound 


Cliff Edwards 


Hollywood Jackpot 


4:15 


Young Widder Brown 


Buck Rogers 


Dick Tracy 




5:00 


When A Girl Marries 


Hop Harrigan 


Terry and Pirates 


American School of 


5:15 


Portia Faces Life 


Superman 


Sky King 


the Air 


5:30 


Just Plain Bill 


Captain Midnight 


Jack Armstrong 


Oklahoma Roundup 


5:45 


Front Page Farrell 


Tom Mix 


Tennessee Jed 





EVENING PROGRAMS 



6:00 
6:15 
6:30 
6:45 
7:00 
7:15 
7:30 
7:45 


Sketches in Melodies 
Chesterfield Club 


Vincent Lopez 
Inside of Sports 


The Lone Ranger 


In My Opinion 
Red Barber Sports 

Mystery of the Week 
Jack Smith 
Bob Hawk Show 


8:00 
8:15 
8:30 
8:45 


Cavalcade of America 
Voice of Firestone 


Bulldog Drummond 

Casebook of Gregory 
Hood 


Lum and Abner 

Fat Man Detective 
Stories 


Inner Sanctum 
Joan Davis 


9:00 
9:15 
9:30 
9:45 


Telephone Hour 
Victor Borge 


Real Stories 
Guy Lombardo 


Dark Venture 

Johnny Olsen's 
Rumpus Room 


Lux Radio Theatre 


10:00 
10:15 
10:30 


Contented Program 
Dr. 1. Q. 


California Melodies 


Doctors Talk It Over 


Screen Guild Players 
Tonight on Broadway 



WEDNESDAY 




— is "the girl" in the life of Joe 
Powers of Oakville, heard on 
CBS Monday through Friday at 
10 A.M., EST. Joe Powers, edi- 
tor and radio broadcaster, tells 
stories of the tragedies and com- 
edies which occur in the lives of the people he knows 
and loves in his home town of Oakville, which is "a 
typical small town somewhere in the Western part 
of the country". Each day's story is complete in itself 




A.M. 


NBC 660k 


MBS 710k 


ABC 770k 


CBS 880k 


8:30 
8:45 










9:00 
9:15 
9:30 
9:45 


Honeymoon in N. Y. 
Daytime Classics 


Shady Valley Folks 


Breakfast Club 


Time in New York 


10:00 
10:15 
10:30 
10:45 


Lee Sullivan 
Lora Lawton 
Road of Life 
Joyce Jordan 


Once Over Lightly 
Faith In Our Time 
Say It With Music 


My True Story 

Hymnsof All Churches 
Listening Post 


Joe Powers 

Evelyn Winters 
Time to Remember 


11:00 
11:15 
11:30 
11:45 


Fred Waring 

Jack Berch 
David Harum 


Tell Your Neighbor 
Bill Harrington 
Victor H. Lindlahr 


Tom Breneman 

Gilbert Martyn 
Ted Malone 


Arthur Godfrey 

Grand Slam 
Rosemary 



AFTERNOON PROGRAMS 



T U E S DA Y 


A.M. 


NBC 660k 


MBS 710k 


ABC 770k 


CBS 880k 


8:30 
8:45 










9:00 
9:15 
9:30 
9:45 


Honeymoon in N. Y. 
Daytime Classics 


Shady Valley Folks 


Breakfast Club 


This is New York 


10:00 
10:15 
10:30 
10:45 


Lee Sullivan 
Lora Lawton 
Road of Life 
Joyce Jordan 


Allan Scott 

Faith In Our Time 

Say It With Music 


My True Story 

Hymnsof All Churches 
Listening Post 


Joe Powers 
Evelyn Winters 


11:00 
11:15 
11:30 
11:45 


Fred Waring 

Jack Berch 
David Harum 


Tell Your Neighbor 
Bill Harrington 
Victor H. Lindlahr 


Tom Breneman 

Gilbert Martyn 
William Lang 


Arthur Godfrey 

Grand Slam 
Rosemary 



AFTERNOON PROGRAMS 



12:00 






Glamour Manor 


Kate Smith Speaks 


12:15 




Morton Downey 




Aunt Jenny 


12:30 




U. S. Marine Band 


At Your Request 


Helen Trent 


12:45 








Our Gal Sunday 


1:00 




Editor's Diary 




Big Sister 


1:15 








Ma Perkins 


1:30 




Jackie Hill 




Young Dr. Malone 


1:45 




John J. Anthony 




Road of Life 


2:00 


Today's Children 






Second Mrs. Burton 


2:15 


Woman in White 


Smile Time 


Ethel and Albert 


Perry Mason 


2:30 


Masquerade 


Queen For A Day 


Bride and Groom 




2:45 


Light of the World 






Rose of My Dreams 


3:00 


Life Can Be Beautiful 


Heart's Desire 


Ladies Be Seated 


Cinderella Inc. 


3:15 


Ma Perkins 








3:30 


Pepper Young 


Hospitality Club 




Winner Take All 


3:45 


Right to Happiness 




Jean Colbert 




4:00 


Backstage Wife 


Erskine Johnson 




House Party 


4:15 


Stella Dallas 


The Johnson Family 






4:30 


Lorenzo Jones 


Sea Hound 


Cliff Edwards 


Hollywood Jackpot 


4:45 


Young Widder Brown 


Buck Rogers 


Dick Tracy 




5:00 


When A Girl Marries 


Hop Harrigan 


Terry and Pirates 


American School of 


5:15 


Portia Faces Life 


Superman 


Sky King 


the Air 


5:30 


Just Plain Bill 


Captain Midnight 


Jack Armstrong 


Theatre of Romance 


5:45 


Front Page Farrell 


Tom Mix 


Tennessee Jed 





12:00 






Glamour Manor 


Kate Smith Speaks 


12:15 




Morton Downey 




Aunt Jenny 


12:30 




Naval Academy Band 


At Your Request 


Helen Trent 


12:45 








Our Gal Sunday 


1:00 


U. S. Navy Band 


Editor's Diary 




Big Sister 


1:15 








Ma Perkins 


1:30 




Jackie Hill 




Young Dr. Malone 


1:45 




John J. Anthony 




Road of Life 


2:00 


Today's Children 






Second Mrs. Burton 


2:15 


Women in White 


Smile Time 


Ethel and Albert 


Perry Mason 


2:30 


Masquerade 


Queen For A Day 


Bride and Groom 




2:45 


Light of the World 






Rose of My Dreams 


3:00 


Life Can Be Beautiful 


Heart's Desire 


Ladies Be Seated 


Cinderella Inc. 


3:15 


Ma Perkins 








3:30 


Pepper Young 


Hospitality Club 




Winner Take All 


3:45 


Right to Happiness 




Jean Colbert 




4:00 


Backstage Wife 


Erskine Johnson 


Tommy Riggs Show 


House Party 


4:15 


Stella Dallas 


Johnson Family 






4:30 


Lorenzo Jones 


Sea Hound 


Cliff Edwards 


Give and Take 


4:45 


Young Widder Brown 


Buck Rogers 


Dick Tracy 




5:00 


When A Girl Marries 


Hep Harrigan 


Terry and Pirates 


American School of 


5:15 


Portia Faces Life 


Superman 


Sky King 


the Air 


5:30 


Just Plain Bill 


Captain Midnight 


Jack Armstrong 




5:45 


Front Page Farrell 


Tom Mix 


Tennessee Jed 


The Chicagoans 



EVENING PROGRAMS 



6:00 
6:15 

6:30 
6:45 


Jose Bethancourt 






Word From the 

Country 
Red Barber 


7:00 
7:15 
7:30 
7:45 


Chesterfield Club 
Carolyn Gilbert 


Dance Orchestra 
Battle of the 
Commentators 


Headline Edition 
Lone Ranger 


Mystery of the Week 
Jack Smith 
Ellery Queen 


8:00 

| 8:15 

8:30 

8:45 


Mr. and Mrs. North 
Great Gildersleeve 


What's The Name of 

that Song? 
It's Up To Youth 


Lum and Abner 
Listen to LaGuardia 


Jack Carson 


9:00 
9:15 
9:30 
9:45 


Duffy's Tavern 

Mr. District Attorney 


Real Stories 


Ann Scotland 
Pot of Gold 


Frank Sinatra 
Dinah Shore 


10:00 
10:15 
10:30 


Frank Morgan 
Kay Kyser 


Author Meets Critics 


Bing Crosby 
Henry Morgan 


Academy Award 
Information Please 



EVENING PROGRAMS 



6:00 
6:15 
6:30 
6:45 


Jose Bethancourt 






Frontiers of Science 
Red Barber 


7:00 
7:15 
7:30 
7:45 


Chesterfield Club 
Ward Donovan 


Dance Orchestra 




Mystery of the Week 
Jack Smith 
American Melody 
Hour 


8:00 
8:15 
8:30 
8:45 


Rudy Vallee 

A Date With Judy 


Michael Shayne 
Inside Sports 
Adventures of The 
Falcon 


Lum and Abner 
The O'Neills - 


Big Town 

Mel Blanc Show 


9:00 
9:15 
9:30 
9:45 


Amos and Andy 

Fibber McGee and 
Molly 


Real Stories 
American Forum 


Boston Symphony 


Vox Pop 
Hollywood Players 


10:00 
10:15 
10:30 


Bob Hope 
Red Skelton 


Dance Orchestra 


' 


Talent Scouts 
Open Hearing 




e on both 
the Screen Guild and Silver 
Theatre programs on CBS, is 
one of the youngest announcers 
on the air. To be exact, he's 
twenty-three, with years of ex- 
perience behind him— including a year of being the 
object of Oracle's radio affections on the Burns and 
Allen show. He sums up: "I always knew what I 
wanted so I went ahead and did it." 



61 



A.M. 


NBC 660k 


MBS 710k 


ABC 770k 


CBS 880k 


8:30 
8:45 










9:00 
9:15 
9:30 
9:45 


Honeymoon in N. Y. 
Daytime Classics 


Shady Valley Folks 


Breakfast Club 


This is New York 


10:00 
10:15 
10:30 

10:45 


Lee Sullivan 
Lora Lawton 
Road of Life 

Joyce Jordan 


Once Over Lightly 
Faith In Our Time 
Say It With Music 


My True Story 

Hymns of All 

Churches 
The Listening Post 


Joe Powers 
Evelyn Winters 
Time to Remember 


11:00 
11:15 
11:30 
11:45 


Fred Waring 

Jack Berch 
David Harum 


Tell Your Neighbor 
Bill Harrington 
Victor H. Lindlahr 


Tom Breneman 
Gilbert Martyn 


Arthur Godfrey 

Grand Slam 
Rosemary 





..''—■' combines singing and quizzing 
On Grand Slam, her five-times»a'» 
week program on CBS. The pro< 
1 gram takes the form of a question 

""*■■ and answer game with listeners 
providing the questions and studio 
audience the answers. Prizes are given to both ques- 
tioners and answerers— all sorts of very scarce and wel- 
come prizes, ranging fronx nylons op to refrigerators. 



AFTERNOON PROGRAMS 



" ; . ... . ... ...... ....... : 



12:00 






Glamour Manor 


Kate Smith Speaks 


12:15 




Morton Downey 




Aunt Jenny 


12:30 




U. S. Navy Band 


At Your Request 


Helen Trent 


12:45 








Our Gal Sunday 


1:00 




Editor's Diary 




Big Sister 


1:15 








Ma Perkins 


1:30 




Jackie Hill 




Young Dr. Malone 


1:45 




John J. Anthony 




Road of Life 


2:00 


Today's Children 






Second Mrs. Burton 


2:15 


Woman in White 


Smile Time 


Ethel and Albert 


Perry Mason 


2:30 


Masquerade 


Queen For A Day 


Bride and Groom 




2:45 


Light of the World 






Rose of My Dreams 


3:00 


Life Can Be Beautiful 


Heart's Desire 


Ladies Be Seated 


Cinderella Inc. 


3:15 


Ma Perkins 






^ 


3:30 


Pepper Young 


Hospitality Club 




Winner Take All 


3:45 


Right to Happiness 




Jean Colbert 




4:00 


Backstage Wife 


Erskine Johnson 


Tommy Riggs Show 


House Party 


4:15 


Stella Dallas 


Johnson Family 






4:30 


Lorenzo Jones 


Sea Hound 


Cliff Edwards 


Give and Take 


4:45 


Young Widder Brown 


Buck Rogers 


Dick Tracy 




5:00 


When A Girl Marries 


Hop Harrigan 


Terry and Pirates 


American School of 


5:15 


Portia Faces Life 


Superman 


Sky King 


the Air 


5:30 


Just Plain Bill 


Captain Midnight 


Jack Armstrong 




5:45 


Front Page Farrell 


Tom Mix 


Tennessee Jed 


Hawk Larrabee 



EVENING PROGRAMS 



6:00 
6:15 
6:30 
6:45 


Jose Bethancourt 
Clem McCarthy 






In My Opinion 
Red Barber 


7:00 
7:15 
7:30 
7:45 


Chesterfield Club 
Dennis Day 


Vincent Lopez 
Inside of Sports 


Professor Quiz 


Jack Smith 
Mr. Keen 


8:00 
8:15 
8:30 
8:45 


Aldrich Family 
Burns and Allen 


Mark Warnow 
Dixie House Varieties 


Lum and Abner 

America's Town 
Meeting 


Suspense 

F. B. 1. Peace and 
War 


9:00 
9:15 
9:30 
9:45 


Eddie Duchin, Eddie 

Foy, Jr. 
Jack Haley with 

Eve Arden 


Gabriel Heatter 
Real Stories 
Hour of Song 


Sammy Kaye 


Dick Haymes 
Crime Photographer 


10:00 
10:15 
10:30 


Abbott and Costello 
Eddie Cantor 


Stars About Town 
1 Was a Convict 


World Security 
Ralph Norman 


That's Finnegan 



A.M. 


NBC 660k 


MBS 710k 


ABC 770k 


CBS 880k 


8:30 
8:45 










9:00 
9:15 
9:30 
9:45 


Honeymoon in N. Y. 
Daytime Classics 


Shady Valley Folks 


Breakfast Club 


This Is New York 


10:00 
10:15 
10:30 

10:45 


Lee Sullivan 
Lora Lawton 
Road of Life 

Joyce Jordan 


Once Over Lightly 
Faith In Our Time 
Say It With Music 


My True Story 

Hymns of All 

Churches 
Listening Post 


Joe Powers 
Evelyn Winters 
Time to Remember 


11:00 
11:15 
11:30 
11:45 


Fred Waring 

Jack Berch 
David Harum 


Tell Your Neighbor 
Bill Harrington 
Victor H. Lindlahr 


Tom Breneman 

Gilbert Martyn 
Ted Malone 


Arthur Godfrey 

Grand Slam 
Rosemary 



AFTERNOON PROGRAMS 



12:00 






Glamour Manor 


Kate Smith Speaks 


12:15 




Morton Downey 




Aunt Jenny 


12:30 




Division Diary 




Helen Trent 


12:45 






At Your Request 


Our Gal Sunday 


1:00 




Editor's Diary 




Big Sister 


1:15 




Vincent Lopez 


Charm School 


Ma Perkins 


1:30 




Jackie Hill 


Our Singing Land 


Young Dr. Malone 


1:45 




John J. Anthony 


Stringing Along 


Road of Life 


2:00 


Today's Children 






Second Mrs. Burton 


2:15 


Woman in White 


Smile Time 


Ethel and Albert 


Perry Mason 


2:30 


Masquerade 


Queen For A Day 


Bride and Groom 




2:45 


Light of the World 






Rose of My Dreams 


3:00 


Life Can Be Beautiful 


Heart's Desire 


Ladies Be Seated 


Cinderella Inc. 


3:15 


Ma Perkins 








3:30 


Pepper Young 


Hospitality Club 




Winner Take All 


3:45 


Right to Happiness 




Jean Colbert 




4:00 


Backstage Wife 


Erskine Johnson 


Tommy Riggs 


House Party 


4:15 


Stella Dallas 


Johnson Family 






4:30 


Lorenzo Jones 


Sea Hound 


Cliff Edwards 


Hollywood Jackpot 


4:45 


Young Widder Brown 


Buck Rogers 


Dick Tracy 




5:00 


When A Girl Marries 


Hop Harrigan 


Terry and Pirates 


American School of 


5:15 


Portia Faces Life 


Superman 


Sky King 


the Air 


5:30 


Just Plain Bill 


Captain Midnight 


Jack Armstrong 




5:45 


Front Page Farrell 


Tom Mix 


Tennessee Jed 





EVENING PROGRAMS 



R 

M 

62 




—not only sings those songs in that 

manner which his fans consider ab-. 

solutely incomparable, but he ot» 

i. fers a capsule musical comedy and 

a brand new way of introducing 

■ Ms songs as well. AH this occurs 

on the new Dick Haymes show, with the assistance of 

Helen Forrest, heard every Thursday night at nine, 

■over Columbia Broadcasting System. 



6:00 










6:15 










6:30 








Red Barber, Sports 


6:45 










7:00 


Chesterfield Club 








7:15 




Dance Orchestra 




Jack Smith 


7:30 






Lone Ranger 




7:45 




Inside of Sports 






8:00 


Highways in Melody 


Burl Ives 


Court of Missing 


Baby Snooks 


8:15 




Monica Makes Music 


Heirs 




8:30 


Alan Young 


Love Story Theater 


This Is Your FBI 


Thin Man 


8:45 










9:00 


People Are Funny 




Break the Bank 


Ginny Simms 


9:15 




Real Stories 






9:30 


Waltz Time 




The Sheriff 


Durante and Moore 


9:45 










10:00 


Mystery Theatre 


Spotlight on America 


Boxing Bouts 


It Pays to be 


10:15 








Ignorant 


10:30 




Meet the Press 




Maisie . 



SATURDAY 


A.M. 


NBC 660k 


MBS 710k 


ABC 770k 


CBS 880k 


9:00 
9:15 
9:30 
9:45 


Percolator Party 

Camp Meetin' Choir 
A Miss and a Male 


Rainbow House 


Wake Up and Smile 


The Garden Gate 
Renfro Valley Folk 


10:00 
10:15 
10:30 
10:45 


Frank Merriwell 
Archie Andrews 


Smilin'Ed McConnell 
Jackie Hill 


Buddy Weed Trio 
Song Spinners 
Junior Junction 


Give and Take 
Mary Lee Taylor 


11:00 
11:15 
11:30 
11:45 


Teentimers Club 
Smilin' Ed McConnell 


Vacation Symphony 
Quaker City Sera. 


Elizabeth Woodward 
Johnny Thompson 
Piano Playhouse 


Let's Pretend 



AFTERNOON PROGRAMS 



12:00 




Judy, Jill, Johnny 


Texas Jim Robertson 


Theatre of Today 


12:15 


Consumer Time 




Tell Me Doctor 




12:30 


Home Is What You 


Bands for Bonds 


American Farmer 


Stars over Hollywood 


12:45 


Make It 








1:00 


Nat'l Farm Home 


Checkerboard 
Jamboree 


To Live In Peace 


Grand Central Sta. 


1:15 










1:30 


Veteran's Aid 




Fascinating Rhythm 


County Fair 


1:45 










2:00 


Your Host is Buffalo 


Dance Orchestra 


Metropolitan Opera 




2:15 








Adventures in Science 


2:30 


The Baxters 


Art Jarrett 




Of Men and Books 


2:45 










3:00 


Nations' Orchestras 








3:15 








• 


3:30 










3:45 








Cross Section A.F.L. 


4:00 


Doctors Then and 








4:15 


Now 








4:30 










4:45 










5:00 


Nelson Olmstead 


Sports Parade 


Tea and Crumpets 


Matinee at Meadow- 


5:15 








brook 


5:30 




George Town 






5:45 











EVENING PROGRAMS 



6:00 
6:15 
6:30 
6:45 


Religion in the News 


Cleveland Symphony 
Lorenzo Fuller 
Eddie Howard 


Chittison Trio 
Harry Wismer 
Labor U. S. A. 


Columbia Workshop 


7:00 
7:15 
7:30 
7:45 


Our Foreign Policy 
Curtain Time 


Hawaii Calls 
Crime Doesn't Pay 


It's Your Business 
Curt Massey 


Vaughn Monroe* 


8:00 
8:15 
8:30 
8:45 


Life of Riley 

Truth or Conse- 
quences 


Twenty Questions 


Famous Jury Trials 
1 Deal In Crime* 


Hollywood Star Time 
Mayor of the Town 


9:00 
9:15 
9:30 
9:45 


Roy Rogers 

Can You Top This? 


Minstrels 

Leave It to the Girls 


Gang Busters 
Sherlock Holmes 


Your Hit Parade 

Saturday Night 
Serenade 


10:00 
10:15 
10:30 


Judy Canova 
Grand Ole Opry 


Theatre of the Air 


American Melodies 
Hayloft Hoedown 






parent 



— is M.C and singing star of 
HBCs Teentitner's Qui). The pro- 
gram not only provides teen-age 
youngsters with the hands and 
the son,g& that are dearest to their 
hearts, but it is aimed at their 
i the interest of a more sound- tol- 



erant understanding between the adnlts and the y.oan 
people. It's heard Satordays. 



Portia Faces Life 

(Continued from page 45) 

back at her, feeling somehow that even a day spent poring 
over dusty records could not be too dull with Maxine Evans 
just around the corner. She was that kind of girl. Her nose 
turned up a little, and her eyes tilted upward at the corners, 
and when she smiled, she radiated youth and life. 

She looked in twice in the course of the day, once to re- 
mind me that it was nearly noon, and to recommend the 
restaurant on the corner for a quick lunch, and again in the 
afternoon to ask how I was getting on. When the shadows 
had lengthened over the rows of sober black-bound volumes 
with their gilt lettering, she opened the door again. 

"Five o'clock, Miss Blake," she said. "We're closing." 

"Five already!" I was dismayed. I was deep in Thompson 
family history. With just a little more time, I felt, I would 
have what I wanted. 

She understood immediately. "Well," she hesitated, "we're 
supposed to close, but I'll be here for another half-hour. 
If you want to stay, the janitor can let us both out." 

I thanked her, and in a few minutes found out that the 
extra time did me no good at all. I was well on the trail 
of the Thompson properties — but it was the wrong property 
and the wrong branch of the Thompson family. With a sigh, 
I closed the books, stuffed my useless notes into my brief 
case. The hall was empty as I let myself out of the library; 
my footsteps struck hollow echoes on the old wooden floors. 
Then suddenly there were voices, raised in sharp altercation. 
I stopped. The quarrel was going on in the front office, 
through which I had to pass to reach the outside. One voice 
was Maxine's, and the other was a man's — a nice voice, I 
noticed, deep and steady, even now when it was quick with 
anger. I started to retreat to the library; then I heard foot- 
steps, a door slam, sudden silence. 

After a moment or two I went on, opened the door to the 
office. Maxine was alone; standing by her desk, her back 
toward me. Compact in hand, she was poking mechanically 
at her hair with shaking fingers. As she heard me, she 
turned, and I saw that she had been crying. It was one of 
those moments which, ignored, keeps you forever strangers 
or which, faced squarely, makes you forever friends. Maxine 
and I made friends. 

"I'm sorry," I said hesitantly. "I heard — " 

"You heard us quarreling," she said flatly. Then she burst 
out, "Oh, Miss Blake, it's so unfair! That was my fiance. He's 
going to Panama on a construction job, and we want to be 
married before he leaves, so that I can go with him. And 
we can't because I'm not of age." 

"Not of age!" I exclaimed. Young and lovely as she was, 
there was nothing immature about Maxine. I'd have said 
that she was twenty-three or four. 

She nodded, rueful humor twisting her mouth. "Isn't that 
silly? I'll be twenty-one in three months — the age of consent 
in this state is twenty-one. And my aunt — she's my only 
relative; my parents are dead — insists that we wait until 
Bill comes back. That will be two years, perhaps longer. In 
these days, two years is a long time." 

It was, indeed. I thought, achingly, of Walter. In those 
days, when one's whole life was circumscribed by the war, 
two years could be eternity. 

"That's why we quarrel," she went on. "I want to elope, 
get married in another state, and go on to Panama. Then 
Aunt Edith couldn't reach us to separate us. Or by the time 
she could, I'd be of age, even here. But Bill won't do it. He 
says he's afraid of spoiling everything by not doing things 
right." 

I approved of Bill. Cautiously, I said that I thought he had 
the right idea. 

"I suppose he has," she said reluctantly, but there was 
pride in her voice. I liked her for that, too, for being proud 
of Bill even though she disagreed with him. She snapped 
her compact shut, dropped it in her bag, summoned a kind 
of smile for me. "The worst of it is, we have only a few 
weeks left to be together. The less time we have, the more 
desperate I feel, and the more we spoil the time by quar- 
reling." 

Outside, the wind had gone down, and the evening was 
all soft blue dusk, filled with the first moist warmth of 
spring. As we went down the walk, a tall figure came out of 
the shadows, took Maxine's arm. 

"Honey, I'm sorry," he began. "We can't fight now — " He 
stopped. 

"Miss Blake, this is Bill Parrish," said Maxine. I looked 
up at a tall, fair young man, and understood, the lift in her 
voice when she spoke his name. 

To Bill she said, "This is Portia Blake, a lawyer from New 
York. I — I told her about us." 

He laughed. "I expect you did. What do you do with a 



R 

M 

63 



girl like this, Miss Blake? She gets an 
idea in her head, and she can't think of 
anything else." 

It almost hurt to see them. They 
were both so young, so much in love, 
so proud of each other. I chatted with 
them for a few minutes, and kept a firm 
hold on my own emotions. I was not, 
I told myself, going to become involved 
in their affairs. I thought they looked 
wonderfully right together, but I knew 
really very little about them, and I had 
no business meddling, no right to take 
sides. Firmly determined to forget 
about them, I left them standing in the 
soft spring twilight. 

But forgetting about them turned out 
to be impossible. When I reached the 
hotel, I noticed for the first time the 
sign above the doorway: Parrish House. 
The hotel, I found out, was operated 
by Bill's father. Later, from my table 
in the dining room, I saw Bill in the 
archway that led to the lobby. He 
grinned at me, and came across the 
floor to ask if I was enjoying my dinner. 

"Very much," I said truthfully. "It's 
unusually good." 

"Should be," he said. "Mother runs 
the kitchen. Her cooking is one of 
the things I'll miss when I'm away." 

IF that was an opening to talk about 
his trip, I didn't take it. We talked a 
bit, but about impersonal things — -the 
shortages, and the difficulty of running 
a hotel. After Bill had gone, the portly 
waitress came up with dessert. She had 
been amiable enough before; now that 
she had seen me talking with Bill, she 
treated me like an old acquaintance. 

"Young Mr. Parrish is awfully nice, 
isn't he?" she remarked. "He's going 
away, you know — to Panama on a war 
job. He wants to take his girl with him 
when he goes, and he can't because her 
aunt won't let them get married." 

I must have looked surprised at this 
sudden burst of conversation, because 
she broke off abruptly and busied her- 
self with setting coffee before me. I 
began to understand that all Lewisburg 
was on the side of Maxine and Bill, 
was watching their romance with the 
breathless interest they would have 
taken in a serial on the radio. 

I read for a while in the lobby after 
dinner, and fell into conversation with 
a middle-aged man who was a perma- 
nent guest at the hotel. "Maxine's a 
nice, level-headed girl," he said. "I've 
known her since she was knee high. 
Her mother and father were killed in 
an auto accident when she was ten, and 
left her with the aunt. I've known her 
forever, too — went to school with her. A 
nice woman, but — not nighty, exactly, 
just feminine. It'd be a question as to 
who's brought whom up, the aunt or 
the girl. Edith's possessive, that's all 
that's wrong with her. Wants to keep 
Maxine tied to her apron strings — " 

I felt rising in me the tide of par- 
tisanship that is my worst fault, both as 
a person and as a lawyer. And as clear- 
ly as if he'd been there, I saw Walter's 
face, saw the fond raillery in his eyes as 
he loved me and laughed at me at once. 
I could hear him say, "Go ahead, Portia 
darling. You know you're going to do 
what you can for those kids — why don't 
you get started?" 

Walter — I'd come to Lewisburg on an 
errand for Walter. I wasn't doing much 
for him, but in those days when women 
could do nothing but watch the mails 
and wait for their men to come home, a 
little meant a great deal. I hadn't come 
R here to champion a girl and boy who 
M meant nothing to me. 

But it didn't do any good to tell my- 
self that I was letting my sympathies 
64 



run away with me and that Maxine's 
aunt, for all the evidence seemed to 
the contrary, must be somewhat in the 
right — not when I saw Maxine the next 
day at the courthouse. She greeted me 
as though nothing had happened, but 
I saw now things I'd been blind to be- 
fore — the strained look that was there 
even when she smiled, the harried, al- 
most desperate expression in her eyes. 

That noon we lunched together. We 
happened to leave the courthouse at 
the same time, and automatically fell 
into step. Maxine asked how my work 
was progressing, and I told her about 
the Thompson case. She listened care- 
fully, putting in a word here, making 
suggestions. 

"Judge Colby might help you," she 
said at length. "He's out of town now, 
but he should be back tomorrow or the 
next day. He's a wonderful person, and 
he knows everything there is to know 
about Rimrock County. He's been judge 
of this district for twenty years." 

She did not mention Bill nor her 
aunt; it was I who brought up the sub- 
ject when we were on our way back 
to the courthouse- 

"Maxine," I asked, trying to sound 
just casually curious, "is your aunt your 
guardian?" 

She shook her head. "No. She was 
married to my uncle, my mother's 
brother. He died long before I was born, 
and she came to live with Mother and 
Father. Because she'd always lived 
with us, they just assumed that she'd 
take care of me if anything ever hap- 
pened to them." 

"Then perhaps she has no real au- 
thority over you. In some states — " I 
spoke as if I hadn't spent a good hour 
checking the law in that very state that 
morning — "in some states so distant a 
relationship as that of an aunt by mar- 
riage would not be honored by the 
courts — " 

SHE gave me a comprehensive glance. 
"It isn't here, either," she said. "I've 
talked it all over with Judge Colby. 
Legally, I'm a ward of the state. But 
you see, Mother and Dad left a will, 
naming Aunt Edith as executor of their 
estate. It isn't a great deal — a business 
building here in town and the house we 
live in — but the income from the busi- 
ness property is enough for me to live 
on comfortably. That's what the trouble 
is really about. Aunt Edith says that if 
I marry Bill without her consent, she'll 
take the property away from me. I 
don't think she really would, if it came 
right down to it, but Bill's afraid she 
might do something foolish just to show 
her authority — sell it, and invest the 
money, perhaps unwisely. And he 
wants me to have the property. His job 
is dangerous — men have been killed on 
it. He wants me to have more than the 
little insurance he could leave me if 
anything should happen to him. Do 
you see, Miss Blake? Between the two 
of them I haven't a chance." 

I said nothing. I wanted to comfort 
her some way — and there was nothing I 
could say that would help. When I had 
checked on the laws of succession that 
morning, I had thought I might be put- 
ting into Maxine's hands the keys to 
her freedom. 

Then she said, "I told Aunt Edith 
about you, Miss Blake. She wants you 
to come to dinner tonight." She laughed 
at my surprised look. "Oh, I know you 
haven't met her — but she loves to en- 
tertain. We don't have strangers in 
town often, you know. Besides, she 
just has to show you that her cooking 
is better than that at the Parrish House. 
The Parrishes used to be her best 



friends, but since this trouble has come 
up over Bill and me, she can't concede 
them a thing. Will you come?" 

I would have accepted had the invita- 
tion been far less graciously given, I 
was that curious to meet Maxine's aunt. 

The very recollection of Edith Arnold 
still makes me feel something of anger, 
and something of pity, and much 
amusement. She turned out to be ex- 
actly the sort of woman you'd expect 
to carry a disagreement over a wedding 
into the kitchen. 

She met us at the door that night 
when I went home with Maxine to the 
comfortable green-shuttered house. She 
had a dry, bright prettiness, reminding 
me of nothing so much as those flowers 
called everlasting, which, tied properly 
and dried, keep their form and their 
color indefinitely. 

"Miss Blake!" she exclaimed, "how 
nice of you to come! Maxine and I 
are "so pleased!" 

"Maxine and I" — it seemed to me 
that right from the beginning she was 
determined to prove that she and Max- 
ine were an incorruptible unit. I think 
now that she had invited me with a 
purpose: she wanted me to see what a 
pleasant home Maxine had, how many 
advantages. 



WE had a perfect dinner, faultlessly 
served. Aunt Edith chattered bright- 
ly through it, a conversation sprinkled 
freely with "Maxine and I" and de- 
voted mostly to reminiscences of Max- 
ine as a child, Maxine at school, trips 
and holidays she and Maxine had 
shared. She overdid it; Maxine's nat- 
ural gaiety finally failed to rise to a 
funny story, and there was a silence. 
Then Aunt Edith brought the lurking 
awkwardness out into the light. She 
glanced archly from Maxine to me. 

"What do you think of my niece, 
Miss Blake, for wanting to leave her 
home and her friends and go bolting off 
to the jungle for years and years? Do 
you think that's any life for a girl 
who's had everything — " 

"It's only two years," said Maxine. 
"And I won't be in the jungle, Aunt 
Edith. I'll be right in Panama City 
while Bill's out on field work." 

"Now you see?" said Aunt Edith 
triumphantly. "You wouldn't be with 
him all the time anyway. And if it's 
only two years, you can afford to wait." 

They both looked at me, Maxine 
helplessly, in mute appeal, Aunt Edith 
imperiously, demanding corroboration. 
I said something evasive about know- 
ing too little to offer an opinion, and 
felt like a traitor. I didn't like being 
drawn into the argument; I resented 
even more Aunt Edith's air of righteous 
concern. Undoubtedly she loved her 
niece and wanted to see her happy, but 
I felt, too, that she was rather enjoying 
the drama of the situation. 

Bill came in after dinner. Maxine, 
who had been shifting uncomfortably 
while her aunt showed me albums full 
of snapshots of Maxine as a child, Max- 
ine at school, Maxine in her first party 
dress, rose to meet him with a little cry 
of relief. Bill smiled at us, a sober 
smile, I thought. 

"Mind if I borrow Maxine for a 
while?" he asked. "We've got things 
to talk about." 

Aunt Edith gave him her brittle, 
sparkly smile, and he and Maxine 
moved out to the front porch while 
Aunt Edith took me upstairs to show 
me Maxine's room. It was a charming 
room, with ruffled drapes and bedcover 
and a little frilly vanity. 

"I made everything myself," Aunt 
Edith told me. (Continued on page 66) 



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(Continued -from page 64) "I've always 
made Maxine's things, even when her 
mother was alive. Maxine is handy 
with a needle, too; we have such fun, 
planning wardrobes and sewing." 

Again I felt sorry for her, this fussy 
little woman who had wrapped her 
whole life around her niece and didn't 
know when to let go. Then a breath of 
soft air stirred the curtains, and I en- 
visioned Maxine sewing with her aunt 
through the sweet spring evenings, 
when she could be in Panama with Bill. 

They were still on the porch when 
we came back downstairs. I said good- 
night to them there, refusing Bill's offer 
to walk me back to the hotel. I started 
down the walk, with Aunt Edith calling 
after me, "Now mind your step, Miss 
Blake—" 

I didn't watch my step. My ankle 
turned when I was just past the square 
of light that fell from the doorway. I 
righted "myself, found that the heel of 
one shoe had snapped. I was half kneel- 
ing, struggling to clap the heel back in 
place, when I heard voices from the 
porch. Maxine's was level, deadly 
calm. 

"You might as well," she was saying. 
"I won't stay here after you go. I'll fol- 
low you someway. Panama isn't a for- 
eign country. I can get passage — " 

THEN Bill, flat, a little tired, almost 
bitter: "I wish you'd see my side of 
it, Maxine. Running off and getting 
married will be one of those things 
where I'll be a hero if everything turns 
out all right, and an unthinking fool if 
it doesn't. It isn't just that I'm causing 
trouble between you and your aunt; it's 
that I'm responsible for whatever hap- 
pens to you. Suppose you can't stand 
the climate; suppose you get sick? And 
if anything happens to me, and I leave 
you, maybe with a baby to take care of 
. . . then if you had to come back here, 
even granting that you had something 
left to come back to, yoiir aunt would 
be saying. 'I told you so' all the rest of 
your life — " 

There was a strangled sob, a creak of 
the swing as Maxine flung herself into 
Bill's arms. Instantly she tried to pull 
away again, but Bill held her. She 
struggled furiously. 

"Let me go!" she hissed. "You're 
worse than Aunt Edith, Bill Parrish, 
with all your supposes and your fret- 
ting. You make me so mad — " 

There was silence, a sigh; Maxine's 
arms crept around his neck and clung 
there. 

I limped away with a queer ache 
in my heart that was half longing. The 
scene I'd just witnessed reminded me 
a little of differences Walter and I had 
had. When you quarreled coldly, fling- 
ing hard words and accusations at each 
other from a distance — that was one 
thing. But when you were most furious 
with each other and still couldn't stay 
out of each other's arms — well, you be- 
longed together, and that was all there 
was to it. 

The next morning Maxine's face was 
set and white, her eyes dark-ringed 
from sleeplessness. As I came through 
the office, she was standing at her desk, 
talking to a plump, short man, but she 
left him to follow me down the hall. 

"Bill's going," she said, "much sooner 
than he expected. He got word yester- 
day that he's to leave next week." 

I just stared at her. "Oh, Maxine," I 
said. "My dear — I'm so sorry — " 

She smiled strangely, and I was re- 
minded of the night before, of her say- 
ing to Bill, "You might as well. I won't 
stay here after you go — " 

"I'm not sorry," she said now. "It — 



just brings things to a head." Then she 
would have turned away, but the plump 
man came up, and she stopped to in- 
troduce us. "This is Judge Colby, Miss 
Blake. He'll be glad to help you all he 
can." She left us, her slim back very 
straight, her little heels tapping sharp- 
ly on the wooden floors. 

The judge and I liked each other in- 
stantly. He looked like a shrewd Santa 
Claus, with his round red face and his 
piercing gray eyes. 

"Our girl seems upset this morning," 
he observed, "if I know the storm sig- 
nals." 

"Yes," I agreed. "I'm afraid — " 

" — afraid she's talked young Bill into 
doing something foolish. So am I. It's 
a shame. All the difference between 
their starting wrong and their starting 
right. Now, if that addlepated Edith 
would only give them her blessing — " 

I looked straight at the judge. "There 
isn't any way she could be — persuaded 
— to give her blessing?" 

He shook his head. "None. She has 
full control over the property, and 
there's no telling what she'd do with it 
if Maxine walked out on her. I hate to 
see the youngsters kept apart in times 
like these, but the boy's right: Maxine 
should hang onto what security she has. 
Lord knows it's important these days — " 
Then he stopped and said in a different 
tone, "But I'm forgetting you, Miss 
Blake. It's an honor to have you here. 
I've heard about you, of course, but 
I must say I didn't expect you to be so 
attractive — or so young. Bless me, you 
don't look much older than Maxine!" 

Neither the judge's compliments nor 
his assistance eased the fearful, swollen 
feeling in my heart. I told him about 
the Thompson lawsuit, and he went im- 
mediately to a corner shelf, dug out a 
pile of ancient, musty-looking volumes. 

"Try these," he advised. "They're 
the earliest records we have, from the 
very first days of statehood. In a case 
like this, in which a boundary has ap- 
parently never been clearly established, 
it's best to go back as far as you can." 

I THANKED him and settled myself 
with the books, a collection of old 
wills, company charters, land grants, 
arranged in no perceptible order. With 
Maxine's white and desperate face 
hovering between me and the printed 
page, I had no heart at all for the job. 
Only the thought of Walter's disap- 
pointment if I failed to help his friend 
kept me grimly turning leaves, read- 
ing paragraphs of crabbed script and 
fine, time-grayed print. 

And then I found it — a document 
nearly a hundred years old, which con- 
tained an accurate description of the 
disputed property. "For Nicholas Field, 
my bondservant," read a paragraph, 
"That acreage bounded on the North 
and East by the Rimrock River, on the 
West by — " 

And it was all wrong. If this old 
document was valid — and I knew that 
it was — Captain Thompson had lost. 

I re-read it carefully, a half-dozen 
times. "And for Nicholas Field, my 
bondservant — " Bondservant. The word 
stuck in my mind, began to mean some- 
thing — I wasn't sure what. It was like 
a door opening on a hidden stairway. 
Then suddenly I knew. I jumped up, 
searched frantically on the shelves for 
the book I knew must be there. Then, 
with a beating heart, I carried my find- 
ings to Judge Colby. 

"You've had good luck, Miss Blake," 
he said before I could utter a word. 

"Yes," I breathed. "No— That is, the 
Thompson case is finished. He won't 
have a chance. (Continued on page 68) 




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(Continued from page 66) But, oh, 
Judge Colby, I think I've found a way 
out for Maxine! Look." 

He read where I pointed, and 
frowned, and then his eyes began to 
twinkle. "Yes," he said slowly, "I be- 
lieve you have." 

We said nothing to Maxine of what 
we did that afternoon. We called Bill, 
and asked him to come to the judge's 
office, and the three of us had a con- 
ference. It was a most peculiar confer- 
ence for serious legal business, punc- 
tuated with burst of laughter, and with 
wild suggestions from Bill. 

That night the judge and I, after a 
delightful dinner at the Parrish House, 
paid a call upon Maxine and her aunt. 
Bill was already there, looking calm 
and self-possessed, but he carefully 
avoided meeting our eyes. Maxine, 
looking more cornered and desperate 
than ever, had hardly enough spirit to 
greet us. It was Aunt Edith who flut- 
tered forward, welcoming us brightly. 
Bill remained on his feet after we'd 
sat down. 

"Guess I'll be running along," he 
said. "I've got a lot to do before we 
leave for Panama. And Maxine had 
better start getting her things together. 
There isn't much time — " 

AUNT Edith laughed merrily. "You're 
a great joker, Bill!" she exclaimed- 
"Maxine will have all the time in the 
world when you're away — " 

"But I'm not joking," Bill said. "Max- 
ine's coming with me. She as good as 
belongs to me right now, openly, legal- 
ly. Doesn't she, Judge Colby?" 

Maxine took a step forward, her 
great eyes fixed on the judge's face. 
"Judge Colby, what does he mean?" 

The judge coughed. "Just what he 
says, my dear. This afternoon Bill made 
formal application for guardianship 
over you, under the old bondservant 
law, which reads, 'The state at its dis- 
cretion may release a minor who is a 
ward of the state as bond boy or bond 
maid to any citizen whom the state 
deems responsible — ' " 

"In other words — " Bill's lips 
twitched, " — I sort of own you, darling. 
The law also says I may extract from 
you fair labor in return for your keep. 
You shall be subject to me in all deci- 
sions. This is one time, spitfire, when 
the word 'obey' in the marriage service 
will mean something." 

"Ridiculous!" Aunt Edith exploded. 
"I never in all my life heard anything 
so insane! If there is such a law, you 
can never make it stick. I'll fight it — " 

The judge wagged his head solemnly. 
"The law's there, Edith, and it has 
never been repealed. You can fight if 
you want, but Bill's petition is the first 
item on my docket tomorrow morning, 
and I see no reason to refuse him. I 
think he's responsible, and Maxine is, 
as you've often pointed out, a minor — " 

"There's the property!" Aunt Edith 
shrilled. "That's still in my hands! 
I'll—" 

"I'm afraid not," said the judge. 
"There's no reason why Bill can't marry 
his ward if he chooses, and you forget, 
Edith, that with Maxine as his bond- 
servant, Bill will have full right and 
control over her property — " 

Maxine flung herself at Bill. "Why 
didn't you tell me?" she cried — and 
then she saw her aunt, old suddenly, 
and shrunken, huddled in her chair 
with her handkerchief over her eyes. 
Quickly she went to kneel beside her, 
put her arms around her. "Auntie, 
please — " 

"Now, Edith," began the judge testily. 
"Don't—" 



Aunt Edith raised her head, looked 
at him dry-eyed. "Oh, don't worry 
about me," she said tartly. "I'm almost 
relieved it's turned out this way. What- 
ever happens won't be my fault. And 
you — " she turned upon Bill with all of 
her old bright imperiousness — "you can 
withdraw that silly petition, or what- 
ever it is, right now. Maxine can marry 
you tomorrow if she wants, but it will 
be with my consent, and I'll be there to 
give her away." 

The judge and I didn't stay long after 
that. We left Aunt Edith, bemoaning 
the shortness of time in which to pre- 
pare Maxine for her trip, and syste- 
matically making a list of things she 
would need, including mosquito net- 
ting and quinine. Maxine and Bill 
went with us to the door, Bill still 
laughing and explaining to Maxine how 
it had all come about, beginning with 
my finding the old law. Maxine lifted 
a shining face and shyly kissed me. 

'Thank you," she whispered. "I can't 
thank you enough — " 

I hugged her. "Don't try," I said. 
"Just be happy." But I didn't have to 
tell her. She was happiness itself right 
then, and something told me that she 
always would be. 

But I wasn't happy for myself. Per- 
haps if was reaction, but as I walked 
down the quiet street with the judge, I 
felt what Miss Daisy calls "womanish." 
I felt depressed, close to tears. After 
all, I had failed in my own errand to 
Lewisburg. I had failed Walter's, friend, 
failed Walter; in my sunken state it 
seemed that I had even failed Dickie. 
I had sworn to him that this trip was 
for his dad. . . . And, when I thought 
it over, I didn't even feel .entirely right 
about Maxine and Bill. I felt that I had 
missed something; something was not 
quite straight. . . . 

The judge had not spoken a word 
since we had left the house.. Now I felt 
his eyes upon me. "Are you remember- 
ing something, Miss Blake?" 

"I am," I said slowly. "That old law. 
. . . Wasn't there a case — " 

HE chuckled. "A very famous case, in 
every college textbook. Digby versus 
Reeves, 1868. The decision handed down 
by the state supreme court rendered in- 
valid the bulk of common law made 
prior to that year. Which means, in- 
cidentally, that your Captain Thomp- 
son has better than a fighting chance 
to win his case." 

I was already thinking about it, rid- 
ing high on a wave of relief — and of 
indignation. "Judge Colby," I scolded, 
"you knew it all the time! You are 
guilty, and you have made me guilty — " 

"I am guilty of nothing! I told Edith 
that the bondservant law had not been 
repealed, and it has not. The Digby- 
Reeves case simply meant that it was 
no longer a law but a precedent open 
to question, along with a lot of other 
archaic laws, such as its being a crime 
to shoe a horse on Sunday, Of course 
Edith might have won had . she fought 
Bill's application, but any lawyer could 
have stalled the case until Maxine was 
twenty-one, and there would automati- 
cally be no case. As it is, the youngsters 
are happy; they're starting off right, 
and Edith's twittery head is full of wed- 
ding plans and tropical wardrobes. If 
that's the result of misrepresenting the 
law, Portia Blake, I'll go on misrepre- 
senting it until I'm thrown out of 
office." 

I began to laugh. Of course the judge 
was right — everything was all right. 
And best of all was the thought of how 
Walter would enjoy the story when he 
came home. 



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70 



/Ofti 



HOME PERMANENT 

THE CREME COLD WAVE 












Joan Edwards shows why those men who 
used to hate glasses have changed their minds 



ause mV V/ 5ee -' me ' 

' Siass es h„ 




71 



Come and Visit the Kay Kysers 

(Continued from page 51) 



never collected anything but old razor 
blades. (And that collection went out 
of the house with his bachelorhood.) 

"Look," he says, pointing to a collec- 
tion of old plates displayed in a French 
Provincial cupboard in the living room. 
"Every one has a different French 
song." 

There is another collection of old 
plates, each in a bracket, in an arrange- 
ment over Kay's desk. Each represents 
pictorially a different month in the 
year. 

"Plates to sing. Plates to tell time." 
And then he brightens. "We even have 
plates to eat off of." 

SOMETIMES— when Kay laughs at 
Georgia's antique sleuthing — Georgia 
laughs last. Like the time when Geor- 
gia bought the oil painting from a 
gallery in New York. The dealer repre- 
sented the painting to be a primitive, 
probably Dutch — "painter unknown." 
One thing was sure; it was an authentic 
original, and it was very, very old. 
Georgia had it crated and shipped west, 
hung it in the place of honor above the 
mantelpiece in the living room. The 
portrait of a baby, it is completely be- 
guiling and, with its mahogany and 
gold frame, it reeks of antiquity. Two 
months after Georgia's momentous pur- 
chase, Kay came home laughing like 
crazy — and displaying the current edi- 
tion of House and Garden. On the 
cover, illustrating the living room of 
somebody's Bucks' County farmhouse, 
was their painting — or one just like it. 

"They probably turn them out by 
the gross," said Kay happily. 

Georgia grimly wrote House and 
Garden. Did they know, she won- 
dered, where the owners of the Penn- 
sylvania farmhouse had acquired their 
Dutch baby? The editors replied with 
great courtesy that the painting had 
been sold to X Gallery in New York 
which had, in turn, sold it to Mr. and 
Mrs. Kay Kyser, of Hollywood. 

Kay's masculine urge for comfort 
and practicality — and pricelessness be 
hanged — has triumphed in one or two 
instances. His favorite chair, a massive 
wing number with a solid four feet of 
upholstered back, remains by the fire- 
side in the living room although Geor- 
gia insists it is quite out of proportion 
with the room and the other furniture. 

"I like it," Kay explains, disappear- 
ing in its folds. "It's the only chair in 
the world with privacy." It is ap- 
parent that Kay will buy a bigger 
house before he gives up that chair. 

The Heather Road house is a little 
cramped — and not just because it 
houses a former bachelor and a bud- 
ding decorator. In addition to the 
quite small living room and even 
smaller dining room and den, there 
are only two bedrooms and two baths 
and — a recent addition — the nursery. 
And the Kysers are gregarious people. 
The front door hinges are well worn 
from the comings and goings of guests. 

When she married Kay, all Georgia 
knew about kitchens was that they 
should be pretty — with wallpaper, and 
geraniums and lots of copper pots. 

Soon, however, she learned to cook 
the corn pone and spoonbread and 
other Southern dishes on which Kay 
was weaned and which he will eat five 
times a day if allowed. Kay found a 
m soulmate when Georgia went to the 
hospital to have Kim. Her obstetri- 
cian, a bachelor, Dr. Irving Ress, also 
(a 



hungered for corn pone and spoonbread. 
Now Dr. Ress is a dinner guest two or 
three times a month. Georgia and Kay 
compete to see who can turn out the 
fanciest Southern dishes. 

"We never entertain," Georgia says, 
adding — as an afterthought — that they 
have dinner guests nearly every night. 
Every night they're at home, that is — at 
least twice a week they see a play or 
a movie. Their compact, informal house 
makes for compact, informal dinners, 
with only four or six guests — not really 
parties, but fun. Sue and Alan Ladd 
are often at the Kysers for dinner and 
a game of gin rummy. So are Mr. and 
Mrs. Merwin Bogue (Ishkabibble), Kay 
Aldridge and Arthur Cameron, the Red 
Skeltons, the Edgar Bergens, Ed 
Gardners, and Dinah Shore and George 
Montgomery. 

The guests at the Kysers never stay 
terribly late — just as, when Kay and 
Georgia go out, they always go home 
early — thanks to Kay's habit of getting 
up bright and early in the morning. 

"It's not just that he keeps the baby's 
hours, either," Georgia explains, wist- 
fully. "He got up at dawn right from 
the beginning." Georgia can remem- 
ber, but only dimly, when a girl could 
sleep until noon if she wanted to. 

The Kysers don't haunt the night- 
clubs like a good many of the celeb- 
rities of Hollywood. Kay got enough 
of small, smoky rooms when his or- 
chestra played the night club circuit 
and Georgia got sick of the Stork Club 
routine, too, when she was a big time 
Cover Girl. They can have a much 
better time, they aver, seeing their 
friends or just spending an evening at 
home — playing their own collection 
of records. 

THAT'S why the den— with its bottle 
green sofas and red and white linen 
draperies — is the most popular room in 
the house, though Kay wasn't exag- 
gerating too much when he said it was 
"four by five." The living room is 
only slightly larger, and the terrace to 
which guests can overflow in the other 
direction is half its former size since 
the Kysers built on Kim's nursery a 
few months ago. 

Georgia, before her marriage, had 
gained some reputation as an amateur 
painter. She still does some sketching 
— however, the paint box and easel 
have given way in her affections to a 
camera. She takes really good pic- 
tures, and would do her own develop- 



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ing and printing if she had room in 
her little house for a dark room. A 
dark room is definitely included in the 
plans for the Kysers' Home of Tomor- 
row — which Georgia, who has not fin- 
ished "fixing" this house, is already 
thinking about in some detail. She and 
Kay will build it one day — and very 
soon. It won't have more rooms, she 
says. Just bigger ones. 

It will express, as she sees it, both 
of their ideals of home: for Kay, it will 
be functional, with all modern con- 
veniences. It will even have, some- 
where, big, view windows. Kay likes 
'em. From the front, at least, for Geor- 
gia, it will be traditional. And while 
the sofas and chairs may be modern 
upholstered pieces, there will be places 
of honor still for Kay's great grand- 
father's mahogany desk, the sawbuck 
table, the spool beds. 

It will work like a modern house, 
she sums up, but look like Old New 
England. 

Miss Kim Kyser, growing busily in 
her extremely modern and functional 
nursery (with its basement, kitchenette 
and three-foot insulated walls, the 
nursery cost almost half as much as the 
total cost of the lot, the rest of the 
house and the landscaping), will soon 
add her two cents to the planning. 

In the meantime, Georgia and Kay 
are thinking for her. 

"We sold a simply heavenly lot we 
had up in the hills," Georgia explains. 
"It would be selfish, when we have a 
child, to move out into the wilds — just 
because we like it. Isolation is all right 
for grown-ups — but it is rugged for 
children. We think children should 
grow up in city blocks, with lots of 
houses and lots of kids." 

"1ND," adds Kay, "go to the public 
A. schools and grow up without any 
fancy ideas." 

At the moment, Kim is not thinking 
in terms of public — or private — schools. 
" 'Get all this mess of fancy clothes 
off of me,' she says, 'get me out of this 
city stuff and let me go to sleep.' " 

Of course, it could happen only to a 
daughter of the Kysers that she should 
be named Kimberly for Kay's Aunt 
Kimberly who, it turned out, isn't. 

When the subject of names came up, 
Georgia suggested Kimberly — because 
"it's such a pretty name, and goes so 
well with Kyser." But she thought it 
would be nicer to give the baby a 
name with tradition, a family name. 

"It just happens," Kay said, "that I 
have an Aunt Kimberly." 

How wonderful, Georgia thought, re- 
membering that all of her aunts had 
been named Maude or Fanny. But when 
Georgia went to Kay's family home in 
North Carolina to meet the folks, the 
truth came out. Georgia wanted to 
meet Aunt Kimberly. 

"Aunt who?" Kay's mother wanted to 
know. 

"Kay-ee." Georgia's tone was ac- 
cusing. 

"That's funny," Kay said innocently. 
"I would have sworn I had an Aunt 
Kimberly." 

"Just like my own case," he says, 
when Georgia relates the story now. 
"Mama christened me James King 
Kern Kyser. Nobody knows where the 
Kay comes from." 

From his innocent expression, it is 
obvious that Georgia found the baby's 
name in an antique shop somewhere. 




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Pepper Young's Family Finds a Girl for Joe 

(Continued from page 25) 



disappointment. I re-read the letter 
thoughtfully, and then marched into the 
kitchen where Mom had a chocolate 
fudge cake under way. 

"Mom," I asked, "remember Joe 
Davis?" 

"Of course I do," she replied. "He 
was that good-looking dark haired boy 
you used to know at the Airport. The 
shy one." 

"Mm-hmm," I agreed, "that's the one. 
Do you suppose we could put him up for 
a few days — on the couch in the living 
room or some place?" 

"Why, Pepper," she exclaimed, 'is 
Joe Davis in town? Why hasn't he been 
over to see us?" 

"He's not in town yet, but he will 
be in a week or so. And he hasn't been 
over to see us because he's up in a lit- 
tle town called Squeedunk or some- 
thing, running a chicken farm. But 
here — read his letter yourself, and tell 
me if you get the same feeling from 
it that I do." Mom dried her hands and 
gave me the frosting bowl to lick in 
exchange for the letter. 

II OW I wouldn't go so far as to say 
11 that my mother is superior to every 
other mother in the world, but I've been 
tempted to, many times. And that 
morning was one of those times. She 
looked up and shook her head. "Pep- 
per — that boy's unhappy!" 

"Just what I thought," I agreed. 

"He's lonesome, the poor thing. What- 
ever he wants to bury himself up there 
in the backwoods for! Of course he can 
sleep in the living room. I wish we 
had a guest room . . ." 

"I think he'd prefer the couch, Mom," 
I said, trying to be off-hand about it. 
"You know how Joe is — he hates any- 
body to make a fuss over him. And 
especially now when he's, not exactly 
sitting on top of the world. I think he'd 
be embarrassed if you were too good 
to him — or too sympathetic." 

She looked at me shrewdly. "You're 
probably right, son. But there's no 
law about feeding him up a little, is 
there? I can imagine the kind of meals 
he's been getting out there on that farm 
all by himself." 

I grinned at her. "I never heard any 
law about that," I said. "And besides, 
I doubt if you'd pay much attention to 
it if there were! I'll go write to Joe 
now and tell him to come whenever he's 
ready." I reached over and hugged her. 
"You'Te a great mom, Mom." 

She smiled and patted my cheek. 
"And you're not a bad son, Son!" 

I got the letter off to Joe that after- 
noon. And Joe himself arrived about 
ten days later. I went down to the 
station to meet him, and had. a hard 
time keeping my thoughts to myself 
when I saw him. Joe didn't look too 
good. He was thin and needed a hair- 
cut. His clothes looked as though they'd 
been slept in, and there were some but- 
tons missing from his coat. His shoes 
weren't shined and his shirt collar was 
frayed. He was a pretty pathetic sight. 

But you don't mention things like 

that when you meet an old friend for 

the first time in over a year. You say, 

"Hi, Joe." And he says, "Hi, Pepper." 

And you both reach for his beat-up old 

I Army kit-bag, and whoever grabs it 

| first carries it, because it's not worth 

I arguing about. And you walk out of 

[ the station together, feeling a little 

strange and wondering if you'll ever 

I have anything to talk about again. 



■ 



That's the way it was with Joe and 
me at first. But the strangeness wore 
off as we walked up Main Street, 
stopped in at the drugstore for a soda, 
and finally arrived at the house. Joe 
took a deep breath as we climbed the 
steps to the front porch. "Gosh," he 
said, "it's sure good to be back in a 
civilized country again." 

At dinner that night, though, I no- 
ticed that Mom had really outdone 
herself. She and Hattie must have put 
their heads together to figure out a 
real body-building meal. There was 
thick, rich soup. And liver and bacon. 
And creamed carrots, and mashed po- 
tatoes and gravy, and boiled onions — 
so tender they fell apart when you tried 
to pick them up. I could just hear Mom 
saying to herself, "There — that'll put 
meat on his bones!" 

Maybe I just imagined it, but it 
seemed almost too much for Joe. His 
eyes glistened when he saw that load- 
ed table, but after the first few mouth- 
fuls I got the impression he was hav- 
ing trouble getting his food down. 

"What's the matter, Joe?" Mom 
asked. "Not hungry?" 

His face flushed and he looked like 
a kid caught stealing cookies. "I could 
have sworn I was half starved," he 
told her guiltily, "but now I guess 
there's just too much of everything." 

"What do you usually eat?" she 
asked him casually, pretending not to 
notice his embarrassment. 

"Well, I'm not much of a cook," he 
said. "I can make pancakes and fry 
eggs. So I have a lot of pancakes and 
eggs. And, aside from that, I mostly 
live on canned stuff — you know, baked 
beans and spaghetti dinner and corned 
beef and things like that. Once in a 
while I get some pie from the baker's 
wagon, when he gets out that far." 

Mom shuddered delicately. "It's not 
a very balanced diet, is it?" 

"MO, I guess not," he admitted. "But 
it I always seem to be too busy to 
bother much about meals. And besides, 
it never comes to be worth it — cooking 
just for one person. Even if I could 
really cook!" 

"Well," said Mom comfortingly, 
"we'll see if we can't fatten you up a 
little while you're here with us. And 
in the meantime, don't worry about 
not being able to eat much just at first 
— you've probably got chronic indiges- 
tion from the diet you've been on." 

Joe hit the hay early that first night 
— bedding down on the couch in the 
living room — and the next day caught 
the bus to Centerville. That afternoon, 
I dropped in to say hello to Mom and 
found her in the living room with her 
sewing box beside her and a bunch of 
Joe's shirts in her lap. She was sewing 
on buttons and turning collars and 
mending cuffs as fast as she could. 

"Hey, what's going on?" I asked her. 

"Now, Pepper, we'll have no remarks 
from you. His clothes are in a fright- 
ful state, and I'm just trying to get 
them into some kind of order." 

"Does Joe know you're doing it?" I 
asked cautiously. 

"Why, no," she said in some surprise. 
"I just found them in his Army bag. I 
knew from the looks of the clothes he 
was wearing that probably the rest of 
them would be in this condition." 

I shook my head in mock alarm. "I 
don't think Joe's going to like it, Mom. 
He's pretty independent. And you know 



you shouldn't be rummaging through a 
guest's luggage." 

Her eyes flashed. "Don't you try to 
lecture me, Pepper Young! Any mother 
would do the same thing. And if that 
young man can't take care of himself, 
it's high time he found somebody to 
do it for him! If he so much as raises 
an eyebrow at me for sewing on a few 
buttons, I'll box his ears for him!" 

I threw up my arms in surrender. 
"Okay, Mom, okay. I'll whisper a few 
words of warning in his ear when he 
comes home tonight." 

She laughed at that, and I went on 
up to the apartment that the folks had 
made over for Linda and me when we 
were married. Linda was still at the 
hospital — she wouldn't be off duty for 
another hour — so I made like a house- 
wife for a while, emptying ashtrays 
and running the vacuum cleaner and 
doing some dusting. Not that I'm 
crazy about housework, but after all, a 
man has to take some pride in his own 
apartment! 

JOE got back from his convention 
about that time and after he'd had a 
shower, I lounged around keeping him 
company while he got dressed. He 
noticed the mended shirts right away, 
and I made a big point of telling him 
about Mom's threat if he made any 
cracks. His face took on a queer twisted 
look, but all he said was, "Gee, she's 
swell, Pepper." I agreed with him and 
let it go at that. 

At dinner, though, after Joe had 
made fairly normal inroads on the 
roast beef and baked Idaho potatoes, 
he looked across the table at Mom and 
thanked her for mending his shirts and 
sewing on all those buttons. She bridled 
a little, the way women will when 
they're pleased, and told him that all he 
needed was somebody to look after 
him. Joe fiddled with his knife and fork 
for a minute and then blurted out, 
"You know, that's what some lecturer 
was saying at the convention today — 
that every poultry farmer needs a wife. 
And I guess he's right, at that. A farm- 
er not only needs a wife to look after 
him, but he needs somebody that he can 
look after and work for. It seems sort 
of pointless to work all day and then 
come home and sit at the table all by 
yourself over a can of pork and beans. 
You begin to sort of wonder what it's 
all for — working so hard." 

"Well, then," I cut in, "why don't you 
get yourself a wife, Joe? I understand 
there's a great surplus of women in 
this country. It shouldn't be too hard." 

"I like that," Linda laughed at me. 
"Did you figure I was a surplus woman 
when you married me?" 

"That's not the same thing at all . . ." 
I began to explain, but the general 
laughter drowned me out. "No kidding, 
Joe," I went on, "how about it? Why 
don't you find some nice girl and settle 
down and make her happy. Look how 
Linda's blooming these days!" 

My favorite wife kicked me smartly 
on the shins under the table and 
blushed a little when everyone chuckled 
and beamed at her. Everyone but Joe. 
His forehead was furrowed and he was 
drawing aimless circles on the table- 
cloth with his finger. "That's all very 
well," he said slowly, "but you can't 
just make up your mind to get mar- R 
ried and go out and pick up a girl — * 
any girl — and drag her to the preacher." 

But I'd remembered something. Mary 



Simmons! What had happened to her? 
She worked out at the Airport — or used 
to a couple of years ago. I'd been so 
busy with my own life that I couldn't 
even remember when I'd seen her last, 
but she and Joe were having quite a 
tidy little romance before he'd joined 
the Army. 

"Hey," I exclaimed, "what about 
Mary Simmons, Joe? What do you 
mean — you don't know any girls any 
more? You used to say she was the 
nicest girl you'd ever met. Why don't 
you marry her? She'd not only sew 
your buttons on for you but she'd tell 
you what books to read when you get 
through a hard day's work." 

Joe looked startled for a moment, 
then he shrugged his shoulders. "You've 
got your answer right there," he told 
me. "She's too bright a girl to want to 
bury herself on a chicken farm. Mary 
has to be where there are lots of peo- 
ple and plenty of things to do." 



W 



|ID you ever ask her?" I wanted to 
know. 

"Sure, we used to talk about it once 
in a while before the war. But I knew 
right where I stood, even then. Mary's 
not cut out for that kind of thing, that's 
all. She's got a good job, lots of friends. 
She runs her own life and she likes it 
that way. Period. No, that's out." 

I raised my eyebrows at him, but 
there was no reaction. Well, I thought, 
he ought to know what he's talking 
about. It did seem too bad, though. The 
more I thought about it, the more I 
remembered how very close Joe and 
Mary used to be. The thought stirred 
a number of ideas in my head, but I 
thrust them back again as Mom spoke. 

"I'll tell you what. . . ." she began 
in that conspiratorial tone she always 
uses when she's up to something. "We'll 
have a party for Joe, that's what we'll 
do. We'll have a party and we'll invite 
a lot of girls. He may find one he likes 
and who'll like him." She smiled at 
Joe benevolently. 

"Gee, Mrs. Young," he said, "that's 
nice of you, but it'd just be a lot of 
bother for nothing. I'm only going to 
be here a couple of days longer, and 
that doesn't seem like a long enough 
time to find a wife — " 

But Mom was undaunted. "Of course 
it's a good idea. And even if Joe doesn't 
find a girl that suits him, at least we'll 
have had a party. We haven't had 
a party for a long time. It'll be nice 
to have a' group of young people clut- 
tering up the living room again. Yes, 
by all means, we're going to have a 
party — tomorrow night. And, Joe . . ." 
she looked him over sternly, "I want 
you to get a haircut and have that suit 
pressed. Get your shoes shined, too. 
I want you to put your best foot for- 
ward — and that's no pun!" 

I don't know how much good Joe got 
out of the Poultry Convention the next 
day, but that night he ate dinner with 
Linda and me upstairs in our apart- 
ment, and I saw that he'd taken Mom's 
advice. His new haircut looked a little 
startling, but his shoes were brightly 
polished and his suit was neatly 
pressed and I noticed that all the but- 
tons had been sewed on properly. He 
was evidently going to try to do his part. 

I knew Mom had been over at 
Peggy's most of the afternoon, and I 
could just see them fussing over lists 
and making phone calls and having 
long earnest discussions about this girl 
and that girl, with Peggy probably 
R thinking the whole thing was a bunch 
M of nonsense but willing to go along if 
that would make Mom happy. 

Well, they must have put in a profit- 
76 



able afternoon at that, because it was 
quite a party. Most of the old gang was 
there, and quite a few new ones. Peggy 
had evidently raided the school for the 
new group of school-teachers. Some of 
them weren't at all hard to look at. And 
Linda had invited two or three nurses 
from the hospital. 

When Joe first came into the living 
room that night, I saw him look around 
quickly, take a deep breath, square his 
shoulders, and march right into the 
middle of the fray. I introduced him 
to the people I knew and then Mom and 
Linda took over. I must say that Joe 
did himself — and us — proud that eve- 
ning. He was gallant to all the girls, he 
chatted unreservedly about his expe- 
riences in the Army overseas, he kidded 
about his chicken farm and told funny 
little stories about the Poultry Con- 
vention. He even turned out to be able 
to play the piano — which I'd never 
known he could do — and entertained 
the whole group with a series of RAF 
songs he'd learned during the war. 

At least he's trying hard, I said to 
myself, and I could see that Mom was 
pleased as Punch, and as proud of him 
as though he'd been her own son. And 
the whole party accepted him as a great 
guy. I could see the girls watching him 
and talking about him among them- 
selves. They liked him, I knew, and I 
kept thinking that maybe Mom's in- 
credible scheme was going to work. All 
Joe had to do was decide which girl 
he liked and do some concentrating. 

And then I began to realize that, far 
from concentrating on any individual 
girl, Joe was spreading himself around. 
He was being as charming as possible to 
all of them. When we moved the fur- 
niture out of the way and rolled up the 
rugs to dance for a while to the vic- 
trola, Joe made a point of dancing with 
every girl there. I don't think he went 
back a second time to any one of them. 
Except Mom. He danced with Mom 
three times. 

SO, when the party was over, and the 
family had gathered in the kitchen 
for a last sandwich and a cup of cocoa, 
it was no surprise to me that Mom 
wasn't able to pin Joe down about any 
one of our recent guests. 

"That little Sally Evers is an attrac- 
tive girl, isn't she?" Mom began. 

"Which one was she?" asked Joe. 

"The Biology teacher from the high 
school. She had on a red dress with 
big patch pockets on the skirt." 

"Oh, yes," remembered Joe. "Yes, 
she's very pretty." 

"And how about Martha Kirk, from 
the Hospital? Did you like her?" 

"Let's see — she was the one with the 
freckles and the low voice, wasn't she? 
Yes, I liked her a lot." 

"And do you remember Louella Man- 
ners? I hadn't met her before, but I 
liked her immediately." 

"Yes, I had a long talk with her." 

"Well," Mom prompted him impa- 
tiently, "which one did you like best?" 

"I liked all of them," said Joe im- 
perturbably. "I don't know when I've 
seen a nicer group of girls all in one 
room — pretty ones, too." 

"They all liked you, too, Joe," Mom 
told him. "Wasn't there any one you 
liked better than the others?" 

Joe pondered her question. Then, 
with an air of great concentration, he 
shook his head. "No," he said slowly, 
as though he were mentally catalog- 
ing each girlish charm, "I can't say 
there was any particular one that ap- 
pealed to me." Then his face bright- 
ened and he looked up at Mom imp- 
ishly. "Except maybe you, Mrs. 



Young. You appealed to me as being 
the prettiest and nicest girl at the whole 
party!" 

"Bravo," said Dad. "Good for you, 
Joe! You've got good taste." 

Mom dimpled and cuffed at him affec- 
tionately. "All right," she said with a 
martyred air, "have your fun. And see 
that you don't spill any of that cocoa on 
my nice clean kitchen floor!" 

She dropped the subject of girls then, 
as Joe must have known she would, 
after his remark. But I couldn't resist 
one crack. 

"Maybe we should have invited Mary 
Simmons," I pointed out crudely. 

Joe's face darkened and his jaw set. 
I'd hit a sore spot, all right. "I guess 
it's about time to turn in," he said 
shortly. "Tomorrow's another day. It 
was a wonderful party, Mrs. Young. 
Good night." And he turned on his 
heel and headed for the living room. 



MOM looked me up and down quiz- 
zically after Joe had left. "Well, 
Pepper!" was all she said, but it 
summed up the whole situation — Mary 
Simmons. I nodded my head and said, 
"Okay Mom. I'll work on it." 

I didn't actually get a chance to 
"work on it" until the last day of Joe's 
stay. But I did finally manage to lo 
cate Mary that afternoon, and we had 
quite a talk. So that night at dinner 
— Joe's last night in Elmwood — after 
several false starts in an effort to be 
casual, I dropped my information like 
a bombshell. 

"By the way," I said, with about as 
much finesse as a brick going through 
a plate glass window, "I happened to 
run into Mary Simmons on the street." 

Dad and Linda pretended to be very 
interested in their food. Mom darted 
a quick glance at me and then looked 
down at her plate. Joe's jaw dropped 
and he put down his cup of coffee 

"You did?" he gulped. And then, 
with an effort, "How'd she look?" 

"Fine," I told him. "Pretty as ever, 
Wearing her hair a new way — sort of 
wind-blown." 

There was a strained silence for a 
moment or two, then Joe cleared his 
throat and asked, "What's she doing 
now?" 

"Same old thing," I said. "Working 
out at the Airport. She says its kind 
of dull out there these days." 

"Yeah, I guess it would be," agreed 
Joe. Then he seemed to gather him- 
self together and asked, "Did she — that 
is, did you happen to — uh — does she 
know I'm here?" 

"I suppose so," I said carelessly. "I 
think I mentioned it." 

"Oh," said Joe numbly. Then, "She 
didn't say anything, did she? That is — 
uh — is she going around with anyone 
particular, did she say?" 

"No, she didn't say," I replied, and 
went to work on the apple pie. 

By this time Dad was grinning to 
himself, and Mom was drumming on 
the table with her fingertips. Linda 
murmured, "Pepper, don't be so mean," 
and, as I looked across the table at 
Joe and saw the clenched muscles in 
his jaw and the pleading expression in 
his eyes, I decided that maybe I had 
gone far enough. 

I pushed the apple pie away and 
leaned back in my chair. "Listen, Joe," 
I began in that man-to-man voice that 
you always feel you have to use when 
you're discussing another guy's private 1 
affairs, "you never did actually ask 
Mary how she'd like living on a 
chicken farm with you, did you?" 

That familiar embattled look crossed 
Joe's face. "Some girls," he said, "you 



H 



don't have to ask. You know ahead of 
time what they'd like. I didn't have to 
ask Mary. I knew what her answer 
would be." 

"I know it's sort of uncomfortable 
and maybe not very good taste to dis- 
cuss this kind of thing in front of other 
people, Joe," I said as gently as I could, 
"but I know, too, that everybody at 
this table wants only the best for you. 
And as far as I can see, the best for 
you is spelled 'Mary Simmons' ". 

Joe swallowed and stared into space. 

So I plunged right on in. "Actually, I 
had a long talk with Mary this after- 
noon. And that talk was almost entirely 
about you. Joe, did you realize that 
Mary's always been in love with you — 
and that she still is?" 

Joe made a despairing gesture that 
might have meant almost anything. 

"And furthermore, did you know that 
before Mary came to work at the Air- 
port, she'd spent most of her life on a 
farm? And liked it? Or were you so 
busy interpreting her thoughts that you 
never got around to asking her?" 

He winced at that, and bit his lip. 



T 



know that she's pretty bored with 
the life she's living now? That her job 
doesn't occupy all her thoughts, that 
she doesn't get around very much so- 
cially, that as a matter of fact she's go- 
ing to the movies tonight all by her- 
self?" 

Joe looked up at that. "Gee," he 
breathed. 

"She told me once," I went on ruth- 
lessly, "that you were too willing to 
take 'no' for an answer, and that some- 
times you didn't even wait to be told 
'no'. And this afternoon she told me 
that if she'd had a little more courage, 
she'd have thrown herself right at you. 
But that in the part of the country 
where she'd been raised, nice girls 
waited until they were asked — Well, 
what about it, Big Shot?" 

Joe banged his fist down on the table. 
Mom jumped almost out of her chair, 
and every dish on the table rattled. 
"Pepper!" he roared at me, "is this the 
truth, or are you making it up?" 

"It's the complete and simple truth," 
I told him solemnly. 

"She said she was in love with me?" 

"She did." 

"She said she liked living on a farm?" 

"She did." 

"She said she was just waiting to be 
asked?" 

"She did." 

He shoved his chair away from the 
table and stood up. "That's all I 
wanted to know." 

"Where you going, boy?" I asked un- 
necessarily. 

He bowed slightly in Mom's direc- 
tion. "If you'll all excuse me," he said, 
with a trace of a grin on his lips, "I 
think I'll wander down to the movies." 

Mom nodded at him composedly, and 
we sat in silence while he put on his 
coat and went out the front door, clos- 
ing it quietly behind him. Then, by 
common consent, we all left the table 
and went to the front window and 
watched him walk down the street. His 
hat was on the back of his head and 
there was a slight swagger in his walk. 
He was whistling soundlessly and his 
arms were swinging briskly. 

Dad chuckled and said, "I certainly 
pity those chickens from now on." 

Linda murmured softly, "I guess he 
won't have any trouble finding her." 

But Mom was already back at the 
table, getting ready to clear things 
away. "I just hope that girl can cook," 
was all she said 



Hie Good 
Provider 



Bye, baby bunting, 
Daddy's gone a-hunting, 
To get a little rabbit's skin 
To wrap the baby bunting in 



Bye, baby bunting, 
Daddy's back from hunting, 
He landed 'baby' modern swag, 
He has Fels-Naptha "in the bag/ 

Even if a man can't 
manage mink these days, 
he might do a fair job 

just keeping 'the little 

woman' in Fels-Naptha. 

To a housekeeper 

faced with a big wash 

this grand laundry soap is almost priceless. 

There's magic in the simple word naptha— when 
it's blended with good mild soap, the Fels way. 
Magic that makes dirt do a disappearing act — 
that makes your washing machine 
a 'quick change' performer. 

When buying laundry soap means hunting instead o£ 
shopping — Fels-Naptha is the prize 'catch.' 

Fels-Naptha Soap 



BAN/SHES TATTLE-TALE GRAY 





R 

M 

77 




Step right up and ask your questions — if we don't know 



FOR some time the Editors of Radio Mirror have been answering 
your questions about radio and radio personalities by individual 
letter. But so many of your inquiries are of general interest 
that we decided they should be incorporated in a new feature, 
written in part by our readers. So here it is — your new feature — 
INFORMATION BOOTH. 

Each month we'll select the questions we think you would be 
most interested in knowing about and publish the letters and 
answers. If you have a question about your favorite program or 
radio star, just write to Information Booth, Radio Mirror, 205 
E. 42nd St., New York 17, N. Y. 



COMING ATTRACTIONS 

Dear Editor: 

I have bought your magazine for quite 
some time and enjoy it very much. I would 
like to see an article in the near future about 
Robert Merrill. I think many of the teen- 
agers would like a story about Mr. Merrill. 
Also I would like to see a story about Phil 
Spitalny's All Girl Orchestra. 

Miss M. D. 



Evelyn 




Robert Merrill 



Topeka, Kansas 




We think a story about Robert Merrill 
would make interesting reading too, and 
not only for teen-agers. Just as soon as we 
can fit it in you'll have your Robert Merrill 
story. Meanwhile, here's a bit of informa- 
tion about him. Though he's only 27 years 
old he has been featured on one of radio's 
top programs, the RCA Victor Show, is one 
of Victor's most valued recording artists, 
and has made fourteen appearances at the 
Met since he made his debut in 1945. 

Also coming soon will be a story about 
the All Girl Orchestra written by Evelyn, 

who is the orchestra's concert mistress and the wife of Phil 
Spitalny. 

BACK ISSUES 

Dear Editor: 

I am much interested in the life story of Art Linkletter. He 
announced over the air that it would be published soon but I am 
not sure that he said it would be in Radio Mirror. I never miss 
his program or the magazine, but though I looked in all the recent 
issues I can't find the story. If it is to be published soon kindly 
let me know. 

Mrs. H. M. G. 
Buffalo, N. Y. 

The Art Linkletter story was in the November issue of Radio 
Mirror. It was titled "Love Needs No Reasons" and illustrated with 
a color picture of Art Linkletter and his wife, seated at their 
breakfast table, as well as with several black and white pictures. 
Sorry you missed it for we think it was very good indeed. Back 
issues of Radio Mirror can be obtained by writing to the Back 
Issue Dept., Macfadden Publications, 205 E. 42nd St., N. Y. 17, N. Y. 




Margaret Speaks 



Troy, N. Y. 



SING HIGH, SING LOW 

Dear Editor: 

Today I bought the latest issue of Radio 
Mirror and the thought came to me that 
I should ask you about some of my favorite 
singers of the past few years, voices I would 
like to hear again. Please tell me of these: 
Frank Munn, Vivian, Margaret Speaks and 
Rachel Carlez. 

Mr. T. H. T. 



Vivian 




After thirteen years on the American Al- 
bum of Familiar Music, Frank Munn is en- 
joying a well deserved rest. He's on an ex- 
tended vacation just now but you'll be hear- 
ing from him again. Vivian, once with the 
All Girl Orchestra, can now be heard on the 
Saturday Night Serenade, CBS, 9:45 to 
10:15 p.m., singing under her own name, 
Hollace Shaw. Margaret Speaks is busy 
these days with her home and her hus- 
band, and doing concert tours. 



DAVIS FAMILY PORTRAIT 

Dear Editor: 

I read your magazine every month and like it very much. Would 
you please put the Davis family in soon? I would like very 
much to see them. 

Miss M. D. 
New York 

We'll do an illustrated story of the Davis Family just as soon 
as we possibly can. Meanwhile here's the cast of the show of 
When A Girl Marries. 

Character Played By 

Joan Davis Mary Jane Higby 

Harry Davis John Raby 

Mrs. Davis Marion Barney 

Lilly {the maid) Georgia Burke 

Police Officer Connolly Peter Capell 



HOW DO YOU DO, EVERYBODY! 

Dear Editor: 

Many years ago one of the most popular radio announcers 
was Norman Brokenshire. He was my favorite announcer and I 
used to listen to all the programs he was on. I read your maga- 
zine every month and as I haven't heard Norman Brokenshire for 
a long time I thought you might be able to tell me what happened 
to him. 

Mrs. L. S. 
Mountain View, N. J. 

You can still hear your favorite announcer doing the honors on 
The Theatre Guild on the Air, 10 to 11 p.m., EST, over station WJZ. 



78 



i;;,:W:;:^J$-,. 




the answers we do know where to find them for you 




Bartlett Robinson 



Boston, Mass. 



PLAYS AND PLAYERS 

Dear Editor: 

I have just become acquainted with Radio 
Mirror and will not miss a copy from now 
on. Will you please tell me who take the 
parts of Walter Manning and Dr. Byron in 
Portia Faces Life. Dr. Byron is no longer in 
the story but I hear him in other radio 
shows and would like to know his name. 
Thank you for this courtesy. 

Miss E. A. D. 



The part of Walter Manning is played by Bartlett Robinson and 
Dr. Byron was played by Peter Capell. Incidentally, Police Officer 
Connolly in When A Girl Marries is also played by one of your 
favorites, none other than Peter Capell. 

HERE'S YOUR VOYAGER 

Dear Editor: 

Sometime ago a play entitled "One Voyager" was broadcast over 
the radio. I understood it was to be made into a movie but up to 
date I haven't been able to find it listed. I was wondering if it had 
been made into a movie under a different name. I would also like 
to know if this play "One Voyager" has been published in story form. 

Mrs. E. W. 
Cambridge, Idaho 

The radio play which you heard was "Now, Voyager" and was 
based on the novel of the same name by Olive Higgins Prouty. Bette 
Davis starred in a movie based on the same book and using the same 
title. The picture was released several seasons ago. We hope you 
catch up with it somewhere for it is very good indeed. 



DRAMATIS PERSONAE 

Dear Editor: 

I'd like to know what has happened to 
the following radio stars: Arlene Fran- 
cis, Eddie and Fannie Cavanaugh and 
Harold Isabel. I have been a regular 
reader of Radio Mirror for years and 
thought perhaps you could give me the 
information. 

Mrs. G. M. 
Peru, 111. 




Arlene Francis 



Arlene Francis is now playing the 
lead in a series of exciting mystery 
stories called The Affairs of Ann Scotland, aired over WJZ, 
Wednesdays at 9 p.m. It's the story of the adventures of a young 
girl who, although not a professional detective, likes to solve mys- 
teries. We weren't able to find any information on the others 
you asked for but perhaps some of our readers will know the 
answers and help us out. 



HAIL 

AND FAREWELL 




The Cast of Bachelor's Children 



Dear Editor: 

I listened to Bachelor's 
Children for many years 

and miss it very much. I wonder' if you can tell me why it was 
taken off the air and if it is on any other network. 

Mrs. E. R. 
Inkster, Mich. 

There are many reasons why a program may be taken off the 
air and it is difficult to give a specific cause in any one case. 
Bachelor's Children was built around the story of a family, and for 
eleven years there were no changes in the cast. When a group of 
actors play the same parts for so long a period of time they in- 
evitably are closely associated in our minds with the characters 
they portray and the actors themselves become somewhat of a 
family group. About a year ago one of the original cast died. This 
year Hugh Studebaker, who played Dr. Bob, got a Hollywood con- 
tract and left the group. Next to leave was Marjorie Hannan, who 
played Ruth Ann, because she wanted to devote her time to her 
home and baby. Replacements were made but the author and 
directors felt it just wasn't the same Bachelor's Children, and so 
it was decided to take the show off the air. 



JUST ASK US 

Dear Editor: 

I buy your Radio Mirror every month ! 

and always look forward to seeing my 

favorite radio stars in each issue. I listen 

daily to all the radio serials so how about 

printing more pictures of them such as 

Stella Dallas and her companions, Pepper 

. Young's Family, Backstage Wife, Portia 

Faces Life, Lorenzo Jones, Vic and Sade 

and Ma Perkins. I'll certainly appreciate it and I'm sure other 

readers and listeners will too. 

Mrs. G. D. 
Weatherford, Texas 

That's quite an order but you'll be happy to know that we have 
the situation well in hand. Unfortunately Vic and Sade are no 
longer on the air but you'll find Lorenzo Jones in the December 
issue. Look for Stella Dallas and Backstage Wife in the March 
1947 Radio Mirror, and as you've probably already discovered, 
Pepper Young's Family and Portia Faces Life are in this issue. 
How's that for anticipating! Ma Perkins will be coming very soon. 



HEAR YE, HEAR YE 

Dear Editor: 

I have been listening to The Right To Happiness for years and 
would like to know who the announcer on the show is. 

Mrs. M. S. 
Washington, D. C. 

The handsome young man who announces The Right To Happi- 
ness program is Ron Rawson. 




Shuffle Shober 



«* ■ 






o 






*£ 



On/ticn y&ut ieaufy 

wiin fteai/y naiu/lat fauqe 




I Asked for A Home 

(Continued from page 23) 



JUNE LANG charming screen actress 
Wi£ S smiles approval of Princess Pal Rougej 

you can have color which 
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the very purpose for which you use it. 
But the new Princess Pat Rouge 
imparts soft, lovely, youthful color 
... so natural that it seems to 
come from within . . . 

HERE IS THE MAGICAL SECRET! 

Princess Pat Rouge is duo-tone. Duo-tone 
means that two distinct tone* are perfectly 
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process. Thus each shade of Princess Pat 
Rouge possesses a mystical undertone 
which comes to life instantly as it is warmed 
by the skin. And the transparent overtone 
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color seems to be your very own. No other • 
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Today be more beauiiful than ever before I 
Get Princess Pat Rouge today. Discover 
what it means to enrich your beauty 
with really natural rouge. At better drug 
and department stores everywhere. 

PRINCESS PAT beauty aids 



PRINCESS PAT, Dept. 7142 
2709 S. Wells St., Chicago 16, HI. 

I am □ blonde D medium O brunette 

Enclosed find 25c (coin) for which send me a com- 
pact of the new Princess Pat duo-tone Rouge and 
Lipstick to match — regular size (not samples) and 
trial size harmonizing shades Face Powder. 



Name 

Address 

City State. 



it as quite a different individual. And 
that gift meant more to me, even, than 
if they had handed me the key to a 
new apartment. 

We are still living — Hugh and Bobby 
and I — in the cramped half-of-a-duplex 
with Mother and Father Jones. There 
are still the inescapable tensions and 
the compromises to be made when four 
adults and one child try to live in five 
small rooms. 

But something walked back with 
me from that theater; from the 
astounding, unbelievable, deliriously- 
exciting day of being a real, honest- 
to-goodness Queen; something that 
entered the house with me and filled 
my whole heart. 

That something was courage. 

I WASN'T just Eileen Jones. I wasn't 
just another soldier's wife trying to 
pick up the pieces of a torn-up life, 
trying to make the adjustments to my 
veteran husband, trying to start a new 
life and running headlong into diffi- 
culties too big — it seemed — for me to 
handle. For a whole day I had been a 
Queen. I had been treated with re- 
spect. I had stood up before a large 
audience and been listened to as I told 
my story. I had worn the regal er- 
mine-trimmed robes and carried the 
scepter of royalty. A chauffeur-driven 
limousine had carried me afterwards 
to a world-famous restaurant for 
lunch, to a motion picture studio in the 
afternoon, to a glamorous, luxuriant 
beauty salon for the primping and the 
pampering all women long for, and to 
a fashionable hotel in the evening for 
dinner and dancing. I had been bowed 
to by people on the street as our sleek 
black car sped past. 

Of course the bowing had been in 
friendly kidding, because this is a 
democracy and Americans bend their 
knee and tip their hats to no one. But 
it was friendly — all these people were 
happy for me when they saw the Queen 
For A Day lettering on the limousine. 
I could almost feel them saying to me 
as we drove past: 

"Go to it, Eileen — have a wonderful 
time! Hold your head up; this is your 
day and you're wearing a crown, re- 
member!" 

I hadn't particularly wanted to go 
out that day of the broadcast, but my 
own mother was visiting here from 
Michigan and she had urged me. 

"You've never seen a radio show, 
Eileen," she had reminded me. "Be- 
sides, you aren't doing yourself any 
good moping like this, staying inside 
day after day listening for the tele- 
phone to ring and then feeling so 
badly because it doesn't." 

"But we're on the waiting lists for 
apartments, Mom, and I'm afraid some 
hotel manager or real estate man might 
call up and I'd be out. Then we'd lose 
our chance!" 

My mother-in-law sided with Mom. 
"That's foolish, child. I'll be here all 
day and I'll take any call that comes. 
You're wearing yourself out, chasing 
after leads that dissolve into thin air. 
Now you run along — I'll look after 
Bobby for you. You two have a good 
time today." 

No one ever had a nicer mother-in- 
law than I have. I knew I was lucky 
that Hugh's parents had welcomed us 
in so willingly that day— that day that 
was the blackest in my life — early in 
December of 1945, when Bobby and I 



had returned from Michigan to await 
Hugh's discharge from the Army. That 
sad, bitter day, when Mother and 
Father Jones had opened their arms to 
a broken-hearted girl. 

My third baby had been born on 
V-J Day — and died only four months 
later. I had brought the little coffin 
back with me to Los Angeles and it had 
seemed to me as if some real, vital part 
of me had been buried, too. My own 
morale was almost shattered. This was 
the second child I had lost — and there 
had been a time, while my husband 
was overseas, that I was sure I was 
going to lose little Bobby, too, from 
pneumonia. 

Even rebellion had been sapped from 
me. The great happiness that had been 
Hugh's and mine on our wedding day; 
the joy that had come with Bobby's 
birth and growth; the fun and the 
peace we had known together, the 
three of us, in our little apartment we 
had furnished so carefully together, 
piece by piece — all this seemed to have 
been lost or spoiled. I could hardly 
believe, looking back, that there had 
been a time when all that was ours. 

The war had taken Hugh away from 
me. Death had taken my two babies. 
I had given up all our hard-won, hard- 
worked-for cherished possessions and 
sold them when I had followed Hugh 
to Olympia, Washington,' to be with 
him for the little while before he was 
shipped to the Pacific. 

So much had been taken away from 
me that I had lost my perspective. I 
was letting despair destroy the value 
of everything that was left. 

1 STILL had Hugh's love and I knew 
our feeling for each other had not 
lessened through the years . . . but I 
could only dimly realize — and only 
now and then — how that feeling had 
actually deepened and strengthened 
through the tragedy and separation we 
had faced. I was too lost to know how 
to build from that new strength. 

And there was Bobby. But how could 
I look at him — and not think of those 
other two who had gone? 

Last, but certainly not least, there 
was our family. My Mom and Hughie's 
mother and father. No one could have 
been grander to me — yet I found my- 
felt becoming irritable with Mom when 
she visited me, angry at her unbound- 
ing optimism and her cheerfulness. 
What did she have to be so cheerful 
about? — hadn't she worked hard all 
her life to bring up ten children, single- 
handed? What was this secret of living 
she possessed and I did not? 

And was I never to have any pri- 
vacy? As Mom and I walked out of the 
house that day I gave a last look 
around and shuddered. The living 
room had all the appearance of camp- 
ing out, with our bed and Bobby's crib 
jammed into it besides the miscel- 
laneous easy chairs and lamps and 
such that simply couldn't be edged 
into any other room. 

It had been bad enough, living in 
such close quarters — the three of us 
and Bobby — but when Hugh had been 
discharged and come home, living 
doubled-up that way became intoler- 
able for me. It didn't help to know 
that most of Los Angeles was in the 
same fix. The strain was just as hard 
on Mother and Father Jones as it was 
on us — worse, because it had been they 
who had had to change the settled, 



comfortable pattern of their lives to 
make room for us. Worse, because 
Mother Jones had not been well for 
nearly seven years and it's hard enough 
for a strong person to cope with the 
antics of a three-year-old youngster. 
I would remind myself of these 
things — yet the next time something 
happened — a little friction over what 
vegetables were to be cooked for din- 
ner — the waiting in turn for the one 
bathroom — the next time I had to try 
to keep Bobby quiet so that Mother 
Jones could nap — the nightly business 
of putting him to bed in the living 
room (our bedroom, too!) and having 
to use our parents' bedroom for our 
only chance to sit and talk out the 
day's happenings — when these things 
happened I would feel myself tighten 
up. I would feel myself turning my 
frustration outwards, against these 
kindly people. 

WHILE Mom and I boarded the street- 
car that day that would take us into 
Hollywood and to the broadcast, I re- 
member thinking of the plans Hugh 
and I had had for After The War. 
Every soldier and his wife dream those 
same plans^-a home of their own, 
peace and security, room to turn 
around in, their children happy with 
just the right amount of authority, 
friendly, easy visits with relatives. 



<^s As 


Radio Mirror went 


to press, the Joneses were joyfully 


settling themselves into the two-bedroom 


apartment that Queen For A Day's magic 


turned up for them. 







I blinked fast to keep the tears from 
falling, but Mom must have seen. 

"Eileen," she kept her voice low so 
that others on the streetcar couldn't 
overhear. "You mustn't let this get 
you down. You've got your husband 
safe at home, and that's more than 
many soldiers' wives can say. He came 
back to you and he wasn't hurt. And 
you have Bobby." 

"I know, Mom. Only — how can we 
even think of a new life when we can't 
make any plans; when all we can do is 
hope we get through this day and the 
day after with the least possible fuss 
and quarreling?" 

"But it's not easy for you to always 
show him how you feel." Mom never 
pried into our married life and this 
was more comment than she had ever 
made before. "You know, Eileen, there 
were ten of you children at home when 
you were growing up. We never had 
a large house — I couldn't afford it. But 
do you ever remember feeling cramped 
and crowded and pushed around, even 
with all eleven of us?" 

"No-o." Looking back, I could see 
that she was right. "Even then, I al- 
ways felt sure of myself — of being 
myself and having my own rights. 
How did you manage, Mom?" 

We had arrived in Hollywood now 
and we followed the others off the car, 
pushing our way through the strug- 
gling mass of humanity that swarmed 
its way through the open streetcar 
doors and the safety aisle. 

Then on to the Earl Carroll Theater 
patio — and more people. As usual, 
VIom struck up a friendly, lively con- 
versation with those around her and 
lwo elderly ladies from Ohio had fas- 
tened themselves on her, content to 
follow her lead as the line began to 



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move and the ushers collected our 
tickets. 

For the first time, something like 
real excitement began to stir in me as 
we hurried through the beautiful Earl 
Carroll Theater foyer and down the 
broad center aisle to a small table for 
two. I caught my breath at the mag- 
nificence of it — the large, spacious the- 
ater with its six terraces of tables — the 
huge, curved stage, half-hidden behind 
the shimmering sequin-spangled ceil- 
ing-high green curtain. 

I LIKED Jack Bailey, the Master of 
Ceremonies, immediately. I liked the 
way he talked to us — not down to us. 
He explained the program, although I 
doubt if it was necessary, since the 
comments around us showed that most 
of the audience were daily listeners — 
and they knew just what was going to 
happen in a few moments, when the 
green signal would flash from the con- 
trol booth that we were "on the air." 
And everyone seemed to be biding the 
little hope that this might be her day — 
when she would be chosen Queen. 

Why not? I thought to myself in 
astonishment. The Queens would have 
to be picked out of the audience. Why 
couldn't Mom be chosen? 

And suddenly I found myself waving 
my hand frantically in the air as Jack 
Bailey walked down the aisle to begin 
the selections. Five contestants would 
be chosen — I wanted so badly for Mom 
to be one of them! 

Finally he came our way. We were 
the third tier of tables back from the 
stage and he paused beside us. My 
throat had tightened up so that I could 
hardly breathe. I wanted to shout to 
him — tug at his coat — anything to 
make him look down at me. But I 
didn't — and then he was walking past. 

But he came back. He came back! 
He stopped and leaned over our table. 

"Hello," and he held the microphone 
between us, so that we could both be 
heard. "And what would you like to 
do, if you were made Queen for a 
Day?" 

Frantically I gestured towards Mom. 
"She — " I managed to get out, but he 
stopped me. 

"No — what would you like to do?" 

I had just one quick look at Mom and 
her eyes were shining — and then I 
knew that she wanted this for me, 
just as she has always wanted the good 
things for other people. Strong, inde- 
pendent, sure — Mom has expected the 
miracles for other people. For herself, 
she wants to make her own way. 

"I — I'd like a place to live," I blurted 
out. I hadn't stopped to consider; that 
wish filled my heart day and night. 
"I'd like an apartment or a house — or 
anything — just so I can make a home 
for my husband and my son and my- 
self." 

He nodded and I caught a glimpse of 
real, genuine sympathy in his eyes. 

"That's a good wish," was all I could 
remember him saying. 

I can't remember anything else until 
I was up on that stage and looking 
around me, dazed. I was one of the five 
contestants chosen. 

It was lucky I was so dazed. Other- 
wise I would have been terrified of 
being in front of that big audience and 
speaking my piece over the micro- 
phone, over air waves that carried this 
program to people in every state of 
the Union. 

Jack Bailey and the others on the 
program helped. They were so kind, 
yet so quick with their questions that 
I didn't have a moment to be more 



than aware of how my knees were 
shaking. 

I told my story — though not all of it. 
I didn't want to broadcast the tragedy 
of my babies. But I told about giving 
up my apartment and my furniture to 
be with Hugh in Olympia when he first 
went into the Army; about going back 
to Mom in Michigan to wait out the 
duration; about the coming back to Los 
Angeles and the desperate, hopeless 
search for a place of our own. Big as 
that stage was and far away as I was 
from the sea of faces below us, I could 
feel the warm wave of sympathy that 
came from the audience. Probably 
many of them — in overcrowded, under- 
housed Los Angeles — were facing the 
same ordeal I was! 

Then it came. 

"I crown you, Eileen — Queen for a 
Day!" I had won! 

Like one in a dream, I felt the robe 
being placed around my shoulders, 
the soft stroking of the ermine collar 
at my throat. Hands were lifted over 
my head — and, unconsciously, as I felt 
the slim weight of the crown on my 
hair, my chin went up. When you are 
a Queen you must act like a Queen! 

I could hear the handclapping below, 
but I couldn't see anything for the 
little mist of happy tears in my eyes. 
An emotion was struggling up into my 
throat — but it was a proud, joyous, 
triumphant one— not that bitter, un- 
happy choke I had lived with so long. 

It began then— right then— that 
change in me. And it grew and grew 
all during the rest of that exciting pro- 
gram and through the wonderful 
events that followed. It was as if I had 
to change. I had to be courageous. 

I had to take the magnificent pres- 
ents they gave me — and clamp down, 
fiercely, on the cynical whisper that 
mocked in my ears: "And where do 
you think you'll put them, Eileen, in 
rooms that are already crowded with 
furniture? — that big, white stream- 
lined washing machine, that console 
radio, the twin coffee-making sets, the 
motion picture camera?" I found I 
could accept the lovely wardrobe — the 
gray gabardine wool suit, the striped 
jersey dress, the nylons, the shoes, the 
purses and hats and gloves — without 
sarcastically wondering: "and where 
will you have a chance to wear them? 
Walking up and down streets, looking 
for 'For Rent' signs? Or talking to 
apartment-house janitors, perhaps?" 

No, this new, clean feeling of pride 
refused to let me twist the giving into 
a mockery. I could look at the gifts 
and just be simply grateful. 

"Is there anything special you'd like 
to do before we start on the Grand 
Tour, Your Majesty?" Mr. Bailey asked. 

The show (Continued on page 84) 



Be Sure to Listen to 

Louella Parsons 

Sunday, January 12th, at 9:15 P. M. 
EST on ABC for an exciting interview 
with one of America's most popular 
stars — as chosen by the American movie- 
going public in the annual poll con- 
ducted for PHOTOPLAY - by Dr. 
George Gallup's Audience Research Inc. 



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(PLEASE PRINT PLAINLY) 


M 







84 



(Continued from page 82) was over. 
The audience was slowly, noisily, mak- 
ing its way out the frosted glass doors 
of the theater. Mom was up there on 
the stage with me and now there were 
only us and the official members of the 
show left. 

"It's all over?" I asked, regretfully. 
I was beginning, slowly, to emerge 
from the dream. 

"I can see your daughter's been too 
excited to listen," Jack Bailey laughed 
with Mom. "Why — it's just started! 
You have a whole day to reign, Queen 
Eileen. First, you'll have lunch, with 
your court, at Tom Breneman's — then 
on to the Hal Roach Studios — then to 
the House of Westmore — then — " 

"AH!" There was only one thing left to 
U make this day perfect. "Could I 
possibly call my husband? I know my 
mother-in-law has heard, because she 
said she would be listening in to the 
program. But Hughie's working,—" 

"Well, why not ask him to join us 
for dinner? At the Biltmore Hotel?" 

Hugh told me afterward that my 
voice had a song in it when I finally 
reached him over the phone. He said I 
didn't sound at all nervous or jumbled- 
up, when I finally told him what had 
happened. He claims he was perfectly 
calm, too — but I know better! When 
his words go all gruff and masculine 
and he tries to be casual and what-of- 
it? — then I know he's tickled pink. 

But right now the Queen's limou- 
sine was waiting outside, under the 
blue-pillared marquee. 

I was so glad Mother Jones had in- 
sisted on my wearing my nicest dress 
and hat when I left the house. She had 
done it for my morale — but now I 
knew I needn't feel ashamed to walk 
into Tom Breneman's Restaurant and 
know that people were pointing me 
out. 

The orchid Mr. Breneman pinned on 
my shoulder at lunch put my spirits 
up an even higher notch. 

"That's part of it," Mom whispered 
to me as she saw the delight in my 
face as I looked down at its delicate 
lavender-tinted beauty. "You were 
asking me before how I managed, 
Eileen. Well, I never could afford an 
orchid but I always tried to have some 
little beautiful thing tucked away — 
a flower or a favorite pin or a special 
little trinket someone had given me — 
to take out and look at and spruce up 
a plain dress, when things were par- 



ticularly down-heartening. It does 
something for you, wearing something 
special and beautiful. Life can't always 
be just bread-and-butter, you know." 

I did know. I remembered how 
proud we children always were of the 
way Mom looked, no matter how poor 
we were. The way she would always 
have her hair just-so and the way she 
would never think of going out onto 
the street in a housedress, even to the 
grocery store. She could always find 
time to change into a street-dress and 
put on her hat, even with ten children 
clamoring for her time and attention. 
What was the word for that kind of 
pride — was it courage? 

But now I was too busy to ponder 
secrets. The chauffeur piloted us in 
the big car out to Culver City and the 
Hal Roach Studios — and it was then I 
noticed the people bowing on the 
streets and felt their friendly god- 
speeds. I was a grown woman, mar- 
ried, with a three-year-old son — yet 
it was all I could do to keep from 
bouncing up and down on the car 
seats, just as Bobby would have done. 

Even the make-believe of the movie 
sets didn't seem any more unreal than 
the rest of what had happened so far 
that day, as we visited the Hal Roach 
Studio. These glamorous great peo- 
ple of the motion pictures — why, they 
treated me as if I were the celebrity! 

I think Mom enjoyed the House of 
Westmore as much as I did. 

"I HOPE you don't mind my watching 
I everything you do?" she asked the 
attendant who had taken me in charge. 
"I have a few other daughters and 
some friends who will be asking me all 
kinds of questions and I'd like to pass 
on to them any new ideas." 

"Of course we don't mind," the 
other said graciously. "Looking pretty 
is mostly just good common sense and 
sticking to it, anyway. Plus a little 
professional know-how." 

"Is there anything that gives a 
woman such a lift as this?" I marveled, 
when they were through. "I feel 
like a new person." And indeed it was 
a new Eileen who stared rapturously 
back at me, turning and posturing in 
the House of Westmore salon. The old 
one — defeated and beaten — had been 
sloughed off like a worn-out coat when 
I had first walked up those velvet car- 
pets to the stage at Earl Carroll's. Now 
the finishing touches were on — and I 
was welcoming back the girl who 




HOW MUCH SHOULD 
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looked like this with shining eyes the 
day Hugh and I had been married, who 
had been so happy before the war. 

But there was still something lack- 
ing to make for perfect happiness and 
I knew what it was when I saw Hugh, 
himself, make his way toward us at 
our dinner table at the Biltmore Hotel. 
Now everything was complete — be- 
cause he was here to enjoy the rest 
with me. 

"Hi, Queen!" his words were joking, 
but his whole face showed his pleasure 
and his "pride. It seemed so good, 
again for the two of us to be dressed 
up and dining out — just as if we were 
two kids again, courting and on a spree 
— instead of a settled married couple, 
having to hoard pennies against rainy 
days. "Do I bow — or kneel — or does 
a husband have some rights with 
royalty?" 

"How about your being King — for 
the evening?" The sponsors of the 
show even had an official escort, Mr. 
Harry Mynat, along with Mom and 
me, and he had proved to be a gay and 
interesting guide on our tour. 

"AKAY, Mr. Mynat. That should give 
U me some standing here." Hughie 
settled himself at the table and then 
smiled at Mom. "You two girls have 
been having yourselves a time, haven't 
you? Not that I was surprised — I've 
always said I knew how to pick 'em." 

With a start of surprise, I saw that 
I had almost forgotten how good- 
looking Hugh is — how grand that smile 
that lights up his whole face. It had 
been so long since I had really given 
him a good look, or made an effort to 
see him smile — so long since I wasn't 
too busy when he came home nights 
to share with him this private kind 
of teasing that is a part of love. 

I saw, too, the new little lines at the 
corners of his eyes. These past years 
hadn't been any easier for him than 
for me . . . perhaps harder. 

But that was in the past. Things are 
going to be different from now on, I 
promised him, silently. This day is 
meant to be more than just an adven- 
ture — it must mean the start of that 
new life we dreamed of. 

"I feel so wonderful," I whispered 
to him, as the lights slowly darkened 
in the big ballroom-dining room and 
the floor show began. "I feel like 
Somebody." 

He squeezed my arm. "You've al- 
ways been somebody, silly — aren't you 
Mrs. Hugh Jones? You're somebody to 
me, and to Bobby, and don't you for- 
get it." 

And then we stopped talking because 
the dinner was so delicious and the 
floor show was sparkling and funny 
and there was so much to see and do. 
I was in fairyland again, and this time 
Hugh was with me. 

Of course there's always an awaken- 
ing. Mine came next morning when I 
opened my eyes and knew that my 
Queen's reign was over — I was back in 
our combination bedroom-living room 
and Bobby was clamoring for his 
breakfast. 

"Shush!" I told him automatically. 
The usual warnings rose to my lips as 
I tiptoed into robe and bedroom slip- 
pers: Be quiet — don't make so much 
noise — you'll wake your Grandmother 
— don't ask so many questions — eat 
your breakfast — 

And then I remembered. I had a 
story to tell Bobby. 

"Once upon a time, Bobby, there was 
a Queen. For a whole day. And that 
Queen was your very own mother — " 
and so on, telling him everything that 



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R 
M 

85 





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R 

HI 

86 



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had happened. He sat there raptur- 
ously quiet, his big brown eyes wide 
under his thatch of blond hair. He 
could hardly wiggle, much less talk- 
but he ate his breakfast. 

So the magic hadn't yet disappeared! 
And now a little of it touched my son. 

The phone began ringing shortly 
after Hugh and Father Jones had left 
for work — which is early, indeed. And 
it hardly stopped ringing all day. 
Friends dropped in to marvel and ex- 
claim with me and to hear firsthand 
how one of their own neighbors had 
become Queen for a Day. Telegrams 
came from Michigan where relatives 
and more friends had heard the pro- 
gram. I had to keep dressed up; I 
couldn't run around in slacks and any 
old blouse when there was no telling 
who might be ringing the doorbell. 

People told me that the afternoon 
Alhambra newspapers carried ads 
placed there by the sponsors of the 
show — asking for a place to rent for us. 

But — funny thing — I never really 
expected them to get results. I never 
expected to get my wish. I had almost 
forgotten I had made it and I knew 
that apartments and real estate offices 
had long waiting lists. 

BUT the other miracle—? Late that 
afternoon, when the house was 
finally quiet and Bobby was outside 
playing and Mother Jones had left me, 
smiling, to take her nap — then I sat 
down and took stock of myself. Why 
did I still feel so different? 

Why wasn't I afraid — at least not 
so much? Why was it that all the in- 
terruptions, the make-shift entertain- 
ing, the apologies for meeting these 
friends today in a living room where 
the baby's bed was crowded against 
the fireplace and our bed was only 
barely comoufiaged as a divan against 
the other wall — why didn't those things 
bother and irritate me? 

I searched and found the answer. 
Because I had found myself again. I 
had my bearings now and none of 
these temporary discomforts was going 
to throw me for a loss again. I was a 
real person. 

All during the time Hugh was in the 
Army I had felt like nothing more 
than a war statistic. I was a soldier's 
wife — one of ten million — torn up by 
the roots and scattered over the coun- 
try. That was a sacrifice I had been 
willing to meet, even if I'd had a choice. 
The woman's part is the easiest. 

But those things wouldn't have mat- 
tered if you knew you had a safe 
anchorage somewhere, a place to come 
back to, of your own. But when you 
drift for a couple of years — when your 
husband is overseas — when you bear 
and lose a child that he has never even 
seen — in a home that is not your own 
— when you move again and must find 
your corner in someone else's house — 

Well, somewhere along that road I 
had lost myself. I had become not 
wholly a mother, not wholly a wife, not 
quite a guest in my parents-in-law's 
house — not entirely anything. 

Now I knew that to be anything to 
anyone, I must first know myself. I 
must be strong and courageous and 
proud — not beaten and unhappy. I 
must look forward — but not desper- 
ately. There were common-sense 
things I could do. 

Stubbornly I meant to cling to some 
of that magic. It wasn't so impossible. 
Wasn't my own mother one of those 
rare persons who carried that magic 
wisdom with her wherever she went? 
She had raised ten children, but she 
had never let herself become sub- 



merged in them; never let her own 
dreams and her own pride die. 

I don't mean to imply that being 
Queen has changed me or my life 
completely. In fact, I doubt if Hugh 
or Bobby would appreciate such a 
change. But what it has done for me 
is to make me realize that good fortune 
can come my way; that keeping a pair 
of rose-tinted glasses handy isn't just 
kidding myself; that if miracles can 
happen, other good things can come 
my way if I work for them. 

Time has gone by. I'm 'still search- 
ing the want-ad sections of the news- 
papers and I still eagerly follow up any 
rumors I hear about rental vacancies. 
But the hunt doesn't occupy all of my 
time — not by any means. 

I have a job now. In the mornings 
I get up and fix our breakfast, clean 
up our room, and then take Bobby to 
nursery school on my way to work. 

It's nice, pleasant work, selling 
breads and cakes and pies and cookies 
in the Mission Bakery. The counters 
sparkle in their clean glass and the air 
smells sweet from the cinnamon and 
the spices in the baking. I wear a trim- 
white uniform and a little white cap 
that perches smartly on my dark hair 
(I'm still dressing my curls the way 
Westmore's showed me to!) and I am 
begining to know and call the custom- 
ers by name. And they know me, too. 
"Mrs. Jones," they say — and once in a 
while someone's eyes will open wide 
and they will gasp: "Mrs. Jones? Are 
you the Eileen Jones who was Queen 
for a Day? Oh, tell me about it!" And 
then I find myself going over my great 
adventure again. 

IT FOUR-THIRTY I pick up Bobby 
A and we go home. Mother Jones has 
had a quiet, peaceful day. She loves 
Bobby and he loves her, dearly; but no 
older woman — and certainly not one 
who is unwell — should have the nerve- 
racking noise and tumult of a small 
boy's entire waking hours loaded onto 
her shoulders. This way they see each 
other for a few hours and it is a pleas- 
ant time for them both. 

When Hugh comes home I have 
rested and showered and changed into 
one of the pretty dresses he loves. 
And I have found that sharing an- 
other person's life and jokes and ten- 
derness doesn't depend on being physi- 
cally alone. We are together — we are 
building together — planning together. 

"I heard about a new housing de- 
velopment today. And they're giving 
preference to veterans." When he 
would tell me about these possibilities 
before, it would come slowly, almost 
as if he were afraid of raising my hopes 
and knowing the despair that would 
follow if the "lead" came to nothing. 

But now — ? I can say calmly, "Let's 
call them up and ask for an appoint- 
ment, dear. Maybe we can run over to 
their offices after Bobby is in bed." But 
there's no frenzy in my voice now. It 
will come — that home for us. "And if it 
doesn't work out — there'll be another 
day." And I know, from Hugh's grate- 
ful smile, that he has learned, too, how 
substantial our happiness together is. 

I'm going to have more babies, too. 
That was something I couldn't face for 
a long time. But now I want children — 
brothers and sisters for Bobby — when 
that Someday comes. 

It's nice, having a wonderful Some- 
day to look forward to. But I don't 
think I could still dream of it and plan 
for it — if I hadn't had that Other Day 
to look back on. That never-to-be- 
forgotten, miracle in time when I 
was truly Queen for a Day. 



It's A Honeymoon 

(Continued from page 43) 

and how we fell in love and married 
and have lived happily ever after . . . 
. . .it all began, as the tale-tellers 
say, seven or eight years ago — maybe 
more, time plays pranks with me — 
when I was working as a relief an- 
nouncer for Station KGB in San Diego, 
California, and first heard Ruth Car- 
hart sing over the Columbia network. 
I thought, I remember, how much, how 
very much I liked the verve and velvet 
of her contralto voice. I wondered 
vaguely, I also remember, whether she 
"looked like" her voice. But I did not 
think I would ever meet her nor did 

I feel, to be quite honest, any wild 
romantic urge to do so. 

Then, shortly after I heard Ruth 
sing, I resigned from KGB (by that 
time I had been promoted to Chief 
Staff Announcer) and headed East. 
Luck rode with me, for I was accepted 
in no time at all as a staff member of 
CBS in New York. Among my first 
assignments was to announce the pro- 
gram of songstress Ruth Carhart. 

WOW you might suppose — since I had 

II heard her sing when I was on the 
Coast and her voice had, so to speak, 
said things to me — that it would have 
been pretty exciting to me to meet her, 
to announce for her. Quite honestly, it 
wasn't. I had been at CBS for only 
two to three weeks at the time and was 
too excited over the break it was for 
me to be there to have any reactions 
left over. Furthermore, I was not well 
— down to that "spare 134 pounds" — it 
was a hot summer, I wasn't used to 
heat and the whole set-up ganged up 
on the Romeo in me, if any. 

I do recall that Ruth sang "When We 
Were Young," as one of her numbers, 
but whether I noticed what she wore, 
or thought her beautiful, or hoped to 
have a date with her, I doubt . . . 

After the broadcast, however, Cupid 
got in a lick . . . when, in the an- 
nouncers' room, I found a great big 
box of peonies which my grandparents 
had sent me from my hometown of 
Deposit, New York. An enormous 
box . . . Since the room I was then 
sharing with Ralph Edwards (later to 
be the Ralph Edwards of Truth and 
Consequences fame and fortune) 
boasted only one vase, a bud vase, it 
was obvious that if the peonies moved 
in, Ralph and I would, perforce, move 
out. Sort of embarrassing to me, too, 
all those flowers in the announcers' 
room. What to do with them? Having 
just finished the program with Ruth, 
something — in my subconscious, noth- 
ing more— prompted me to rush to the 
elevators where, just as she was sig- 
naling for a down car — I caught up 
with Ruth. Standing there, first on one 
foot, then the other, I asked her, with 
a sickly grin, if she "liked flowers." 
Ruth's answer was (she says it was 
the first and last time she ever used 
the now-current phrase) "Oh, are you 
kidding?" 

I remember very well our first date. 
Ruth had an organ program some- 
where on Seventh Avenue. I announced 
the program. As we were leaving the 
building in — recurrent theme! — a down 
elevator we said, simultaneously and 
very unromantically, that we were 
hungry. After which, with no "How 
about dinner tonight, Miss Carhart?" 
we found ourselves, as by common 
consent, in a place called Louise's, 
somewhere on the East Side, and there 




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discovered that we both like hearty 
food — steak, potatoes, pie — that we 
both love children, animals, flowers, 
fishing and sturdy furniture; that we 
both come from the smallest of small 
towns (Population of Ellsworth, some 
2,000— and Ruth said I had "made up" 
the town of Deposit, that there was no 
such place) which means that our way 
of life had been much the same and 
that we had both worked like steve- 
dores to make good. 

"My parents," Ruth confided, "wanted 
badly, but could not afford to give me, 
a musical education. So when I learned 
that Ellsworth's one and only (and 
very fine) vocal coach needed a house- 
keeper, I applied for the job — and got 
it. Lessons," she added, laughing, "in 
part payment of salary." 

"I worked my way through San 
Diego College, where I was studying 
to be a history teacher," I said, "by 
taking employment in a grocery store, 
at a public beach as caretaker of the 
parking lot and picnic grounds, as a 
flagman with a road gang . . ." 

"CJOON after I started in domestic 
IJ service," Ruth said, "my employer 
and coach joined the staff of Stephens 
College, in Missouri, and I went with 
him. I worked my way through Ste- 
phens by singing in church choirs in 
addition to continuing my household 
chores." 

"I quit college in my junior year," 
I said, "to join a Shakespearean stock 
company, run by Mrs. Patia Power who 
was better known, at the time, than 
her son, Tyrone. I made my stage 
debut," I added, with modest pride, 
"in 'Romeo and Juliet' at the Vine 
Street Theater, in Hollywood." 

"After I graduated from Stephens," 
Ruth continued the exchange of confi- 
dences, "I entered the Cincinnati Con- 
servatory of Music. After I had been 
there a year, I won a contest sponsored 
by Mme. Schumann-Heink. The prize 
was a summer of study with the late 
great diva." 

"After our Shakespearean troupe 
broke up," I said, "my next venture 
was gold-mining. I spent several 
months prospecting, and — to under- 
state it — roughing it in the California 
hills. I returned to San Diego with 
nothing that bore even a family resem- 
blance to gold in my pockets." 

This time, too, unlike the first time, 
I noticed what she wore — something 
green, like the spring. This time I no- 
ticed, and knew, that she was beautiful. 
She was my type, whatever that means. 
I mean that her red-brown hair, 
smooth and shining, her wide-set, 
black-lashed gray eyes, her skin like 
the skin of the camellias I then and 
there determined to send her daily, 
her wide-set cheek bones and full, gen- 
erous mouth added up to my concept 
of beauty in a woman. There was the 
look of the Viking about her, the look 
of strength. I am, besides, always at- 
tracted to a very regular, genuine 
wholesome quality in a woman and I 
recognized these qualities in Ruth. It 
sounds selfish to say, but I also knew — 
for a fact — that she would board up the 
holes in me and would make — and this 
mattered to me, too — a good mother. 
Which, in more than bare fact, she has 
done and is. In addition, because al- 
though I am not musical myself, I 
have a great love of music, the idea of 
her being musical really — what is it 
Sinatra does to his fans? — sent me. 

After that first date, we never again — 
not for long, at any rate — said goodbye. 

At this time, or shortly thereafter, 
Ralph Edwards (with whom I was still 



sharing — not a room, now, but an apart- 
ment on West 55th Street) started go- 
ing with the girl he was to marry and, 
in a foursome or, more often, two by 
two, we dated and danced and had 
ourselves never-to-be-forgotten times 
all through that enchanted summer . . . 

One of our favorite haunts was the 
old Brevoort, on lower Fifth Avenue, 
where we liked to have mint juleps. It 
was at the Brevoort, I remember, that 
we wrote "our" song — Rain On My 
Heart. Ruth insists that I wrote it, 
she just wrote it down; I insist that she 
wrote it, I just wrote it down — either 
way, we collaborated and although the 
song remains unpublished and, except 
by Ruth, unsung, Ruth still believes in 
it and submitted it, recently and, I 
fear, optimistically, to a song contest 
being held in Bronxville. (Editor's 
Note — late bulletin. It won first prize!) 

The Russian Yar over on 52nd Street 
was another rendezvous made for two. 
There, the muscians used to come to 
our table and play and sing for us; used 
to teach Ruth to sing songs in Russian. 
How Strange was, I well remember, 
one of them she sang, there in the 
candlelight, in Russian. On her birth- 
day that year, our musician friends, 
trouping in behind the one-candled 
cake the proprietor had made for Ruth, 
sang her the Russian version of Happy 
Birthday To You . . . 

I, an announcer, am not paid to be, 
and am not, an adept at translating 
emotion into words; but if there is a 
word for that time in our lives, the 
word is "magical." 

It always flatters me enormously — 
perhaps, being a very wise woman, she 
knows it does — to hear Ruth telling her 
girl-friends, "George used to send me 
the most beautiful flowers. When I was 
on a show, there was a corsage every 
night — creations, they were, each one 
different." (I had an arrangement with 
a very ingenious florist!) "And oh, the 
most beautiful camellias . . . !" 

ON June 22, 1940, in the parlor of a 
Presbyterian minister's house in 
Fredericksburg, Virginia, we were 
married. 

Again I remember the way she 
looked (she looked like a bride — can 
a woman look more beautiful?) and 
the dress she wore, a lovely silk thing, 
green, with flowers in the print. 

I remember, too, that as we- were 
promising to love, honor and obey, we 
faced a screen door leading out into 
a garden and the garden, like Ruth, 
was bright with summer. 

We didn't have a honeymoon trip 
because the news waits for no man, 
not even a bridegroom, and I had a 
news broadcast the next day. But we 
went to Maine later that summer and 
we went to Florida this winter just 
past and although we call that our 
"real" honeymoon, when two people 
are in love wherever they are, and 
whenever, it is a honeymoon, isn't it? 

We have our differences, of course, 
and Ruth has her difficulties with me. 
Put down that I am the laziest man in 
the world (if I ever get a breakfast 
show, I'll be out of radio!) and you'll 
face one of them. She gets me up in 
the (mid) morning by sheer chican- 
ery. The latest gimmick is to tell the 
kids, "You go in, boys, and give Daddy 
a big kiss." Rousing a man by his 
heart-strings, I call it! 

Having laid myself open to criticism, 
it is only fair to say that my wife has 
a tremendous temper. When she is 
about to explode, I can always tell it 
because her lips get very straight and 
narrow and she looks like Brunhilde 



hearing the call to battle. A very minor 
difference between us is that I love 
to play bridge and Ruth has no card 
sense at all. 

Basically, however, we are a literal 
example of two hearts that beat, and 
two lives that are lived, as one. 

When Ruth took the children to Cali- 
fornia last year to show them to my 
mother, and to hers and to do, while 
on the coast, some transcribed stuff. 
("I was," she says, "the voice of Elsie, 
the Cow.") She was gone ten weeks. 
Though we like to think we are mod- 
ern enough to believe that married 
people benefit by occasional separa- 
tions, we found that a ten-week sep- 
aration was plain torture. 

Since we have been married, Ruth 
has done some singing but on a much 
smaller scale than before she became 
Mrs. Putnam. Working as hard as she 
did to achieve what she did, she was, 
she says, pretty tired of the grind and 
enjoys "just being married." I, in the 
matter of her career, say nothing. I 
feel I haven't any right to have any 
feeling about it, one way or the other; 
that what she does must be motivated 
from within herself. I can't help but 
feel, however, that with the big invest- 
ment in time and energy she made in 
her career, there may come a day when 
she will be happier with a slight change 
of pace. . . . 

MEANTIME, she takes care, the best, 
of her "three boys" . . . sees to it, 
among other things, that I make the 
train in time for my Portia Faces Life, 
Lorenzo Jones, Big Town, Mystery 
Theatre and Paramount Newsreel 
shows — and that, with my capacity for 
sleep and incapacity for waking up, 
is no slacker's job. With that slight 
straightening and narrowing of her 
lips, Ruth is wont to remind me that 
the only speed ticket she ever got in 
her life was when she drove me (on 
an ambulance the speed she made 
would have looked good) to the sta- 
tion, at Fleetwood. 

Since I seldom have to be in New 
York until afternoon, and only two 
nights a week, we manage to have a 
lot of time together, and a lot of fun, 
at home. Having lived in Bronxville 
for four years, we know a lot of people 
and have a wonderful crowd — a den- 
tist (Dr. Knight) and his wife, an 
artist and his wife, a lawyer and his 
wife, two vice-consuls from the Union 
of South Africa and their wives — and 
almost every night we're at home, they 
drop in on us, or we visit one of them, 
and have a big powwow, or Ruth sings, 
or we play The Game. 

Often, too, we spend an evening 
alone, Ruth and I . . . and she tells me 
something amusing the boys have said 
or done . . . for instance, how she and 
the children were walking past a neigh- 
borhood church that day and all Jeff 
knows about a church is that people 
get married in church and how, as Kit 
started up the path, exploring, Jeff 
said, "You better not go in there, Kit, 
you might get married!" ... Or I do 
a little bragging about my recent mem- 
bership in the Lambs Club and how 
proud I am of it. . . . Or we conjure 
up ideas for shows I might do, some- 
day, in radio and Ruth says she wishes 
I would act in radio and I tell her that, 
if I did, I would be faced with some- 
thing as simple as embarrassment. Or 
maybe, but not often, we go to the 
movies. Or Ruth sings to me. Or some- 
thing. Or anything ... for whatever 
it is, it adds up to contentment and 
happiness simply because we are 
together. 



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The Little Girl Next Door 

{Continued from page 47) 



90 



STATE 



she looks up worshipfully. "Isn't he 
big?" she says to you in an off-stage 
whisper. Then motioning significantly 
to his arms, "Muscles!" 

They live near the college in a small 
yellow frame house with a palm tree 
in the front yard and a hopscotch game 
painted on the front sidewalk. There's 
a cash-and-carry grocery store on one 
corner, a press-while-u-wait on the 
other. Like many other American fam- 
ilies the Nilssons are victims of evic- 
tion. They had to give up their com- 
fortable Hollywood home, and took this 
one until they can get a small ranch in 
the San Fernando Valley. Meanwhile, 
Norma Jean plays happily away on the 
hopscotch walk, her only regret that 
there's no room for a horse in the back- 
yard. "I want a baby colt," she says, 
"but I can't have it here. I just love 
horses!" 

SHE stages her exciting horse operas 
in the backyard with her best friend, 
Evelyn August, a cute little girl with 
pigtails and freckles, who lives across 
the street from them. Evelyn is "going 
on twelve," and her father works for 
the Pacific Electric company "as a con- 
ductor or something," Norma informs 
you. She phones Evelyn every after- 
noon when she gets in from school and 
carries on fantastic conversations in pig 
latin "so I won't know what they're 
talking about," laughs her mother. It 
goes something like "Eskay-oogay- 
ootsay — okay-oplay," but when boiled 
down means simply, "Will you come 
over and play?" 

Then Norma Jean whips on her 
khaki pants, red plaid shirt, red straw 
sombrero, buckles on her gun, and 
carefully pulls on a pair of white gloves 
"for strangling the villians and for 
riding," she explains. Evelyn comes 
through the front door, pigtails flying, 
a gun strapped around the waist of her 
print dress, and they're ready to ride. 
They mount imaginary horses and run 
back and forth across the backyard in 
thrilling chase stuff. "Through the 
cave!" one shouts, and they streak 
through the garage. "Quick . . . they 
saw us!" yells Norma, and they slink 
across to a big empty wooden packing 
box, take cover behind it and carefully 
aim. "Hit him right between the eyes!" 
she says. The imaginary culprit falls. 

When they "play costume," the box 
is a beautiful stage with make-believe 
gold curtains. In front of it in a long 
pink net dress, a gold sequin band 
around her hair, an old window curtain 
draped soulfully over her shoulders, 
Norma Jean emotes. The show goes 
on. And on. 

She has some forty dolls that live on 
a double-decker bunk and overflow 
chairs all around her bedroom. "I've 
had this one ... oh so long . . . ever 
since I was a little girl," she tella you, 
picking up a baby doll and cradling it. 
A fat bloated-looking doll reminds her 
of her Aunt Bluma. "Of course she 
doesn't look like her," she adds, "just 
the eyes. My Aunt Bluma has such 
nice big eyes!" she says admiringly. 
Usually she plays with the "tall" dolls 
"because they look more grown-up 
and you can comb their hair and every- 
thing." Some of them are wearing 
Norma Jean's dresses now. "Of course 
they're just borrowing them," she ex- 
plains seriously. 

"Norma Jean" is a beautiful doll 
given her by the woman who designs 



her own clothes. She gave the doll 
an identical hair-do, using some of 
Norma's hair which was cut off when 
she got a permanent, and made it nine- 
teen outfits just like those she made 
Norma. Including checked taffeta 
dresses, a blue velvet, a tiny brown fur 
coat, a robe, "and she has a night- 
gown just like mine too ... a striped 
long flannel," says her mistress. She 
keeps the tiny wardrobe in an old tan 
suitcase and proudly has the doll model 
all of them for you. 

Norma collects everything from dolls, 
stamps and pick-up sticks to the backs 
of playing cards "particularly those 
with dogs on the backs of them and 
Jokers. I don't know why I collect the 
Jokers. It just seems I like to." In 
her prized "knicknack" collection are 
souvenirs like the Statue of Liberty, 
the Empire State Building, two im- 
ported figures given her by Diana Bar- 
rymore, and a rock Norma picked up 
in the Bronx Zoo. 

HER most prized item is a gold brace- 
let with a gold heart that Jack Car- 
son gave her, with "Norma Jean" in- 
scribed on one side of the heart and 
"Love, Jack Carson" on the other. 
"I'm crazy about it. It's very lucky," 
she says. "I just adore him anyway. 
He's my very favorite star. He's so 
nice and big and everything. We talk 
a lot," she goes on conversationally. 
"Oh we never talk about anything per- 
sonal," she amends hastily, "just 
about the show." But even that is 
enough to make her heart flutter. 

She loves jewelry and proudly shows 
you her gold ring with a garnet stone 
that her parents gave her. "It's my 
birthstone . . . January . . . you know." 
She has a silver bracelet with a charm 
for every appearance on the Monday 
night CBS Radio Theatre, "but I don't 
wear it much, because Lwear my gold 
ring and it clashes," she says. 

Norma Jean refers at intervals to 
something she had "when I was a 
young kid . . . about three years old." 
Her bed is "my youth bed . . . I've had 
it ever since I was a little girl." 

Her idea of luxury is reading in bed. 
She usually climbs into her "youth bed" 
around seven o'clock at night, switches 
on her little blue bed lamp, snuggles 
down with her pet lamb, "Ballet," un- 
der one arm and gets lost in some- 
thing like "The Five Little Peppers" 
for a half hour or so. "Ballet" is a 
nocturnal must. She's been sleeping 
with the toy lamb since she was three 
years old, and never goes to bed with- 
out it now. "I celebrate his birthday 
every May 15," she says. "Don't think he 
always looked like this," she says sadly, 
"he was all white and woolly with a 
blue satin ribbon around his neck 
when I got him. I guess he's just gotten 
worn out as the years go by," she says, 
hugging the little slick lamb close to 
her face. 

Norma has a large library, numbering 
books like "Old English Songs' and 
Ballads," "Book of Music Knowledge," 
"Seventeen," all the "Bobbsey Twins" 
books, and her very favorite "Black 
Beauty." "I just love that story," she 
says. "I've read it twice. I saw the 
picture too and I cried practically all 
the way through it." 

She's wholeheartedly enthusiastic 
about her likes. She just loves her 
favorite blue organdy dress, movies 
of almost any kind, listening to Jack 



Smith sing, "he sounds so cheerful all 
the time," and especially loves water- 
melons. "They're my favorite food in 
summer," she says. "I like apples in 
winter. And I also like my sponsor's 
Chicken Noodle soup," she goes on 
putting in an unsolicited but in her 
case a very honest plug. She doesn't 
like any other brand of chicken noodle 
and can tell the difference immediately. 
She also doesn't like summer squash. 
"I strictly don't," she says, wrinkling 
up her nose in inflexible distaste. 

Like any other nine-year-old she 
strictly does like chewing gum and 
candy, and keeps a candy bar and a 
package or two of gum saved away 
in a black tin box, along with her 
precious gold sequin head band, a 
leather wallet, and a tiny little pink 
straw doll's hat. A very obedient child, 
she never invades the black tin box for 
candy without her mother's permission. 

Like other nine-year-olds also she 
strictly likes Roy Rogers, Wild Bill 
Elliott, to go ice skating and roller 
skating, and loves to swim. Unlike 
them, possibly, Norma Jean has to be 
perfect at everything. She's a little 
perfectionist, and works just as hard 
at hopscotch as she does at long di- 
vision. A skating spin must be perfect, 
and she'll practice it until she drops. 
She notes not only the principals, but 
the producer, director, all minor cast 
members, and every story detail of any 
movies she sees. 

Unlike most of them, her life as a 
young professional is regimented into 
regular hourly periods. School from 
eight-thirty to noon; lessons in ballet, 
tap, diction, piano, singing, ice skating, 
and swimming; and the regular after- 
noon play periods. 

Unlike some too . . . she just loves 



school. And here too she has to make 
one hundred to be happy. An ex- 
ample missed in arithmetic almost 
breaks her heart. "Mommy ... I 
missed one today," she'll say sadly, on 
that very rare occasion, and even 
"Pinky" can't cheer her up. Her grades 
range from "A" to "A-Plus" in Eng- 
lish, spelling, writing, and geography. 
Sometimes she sorrowfully makes 
ninety-five in arithmetic. 

IINTIL this past year Mrs. Nilsson tu- 
L tored her at home. Now Norma is 
finishing the fifth grade at the Victory 
Garden School, a private school in 
Hollywood. The only other professional 
there is her secretly avowed "boy 



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friend," thirteen-year-old Henry Blair, 
who plays "Ricky" on the Ozzie and 
Harriet show. 

Despite her I.Q. of 162 there's nothing 
quiz-kiddy about her. She doesn't 
chagrin you by rattling off the Consti- 
tution or by giving you the square root 
of some infinite sum. She's just super- 
intelligent. Her parents have guarded 
against loading her mind with facts and 
figures or scientific data. "We just want 
her to be a normal child," they say. 

Her I.Q. is evenly as well as gener- 
ously distributed. She's an accom- 



plished pianist, playing her favorite 
compositions like Beethoven's "Fur 
Elise" and Chopin's "Minute Waltz" 
beautifully and with great feeling. Her 
mother started giving her lessons at the 
age of three and soon discovered she 
was a musical prodigy. One day while 
dusting the piano she accidentally hit 
a note and was surprised to hear three- 
year-old Norma, busily playing with 
her dolls, say, "Mommy . . . that was 
'C ". Soon she could identify whole 
chords. She has what is known as 
absolute musical pitch and today — with 
her back turned — identifies major and 
minor chords and scales, and spells out 
words as her mother plays the notes. 
C-A-B-B-A-G-E . . . "Cabbage!" sings 
out Norma. She never misses. 

She speaks Swedish fluently . . . her 
father always speaks it around home . . . 
and she has command of seven dialects 
on the radio. She excels in both tap and 
ballet, has a cute singing style and has 
sung duets with Jack Carson, Frank 
Sinatra and Jack Smith, no less. She's 
also a very talented little sketch artist. 
Before the broadcast at CBS you'll find 
her in her dressing room sketching 
away like mad on lovely ladies in smart 
evening gowns. "I just dream them 
up," she says, when you ask where she 
gets the ideas for the designs. "The 
dots are sequins," she explains, dotting 
busily, spreading glitter on a "dreamy," 
floating skirt. 

She's always been precocious. She 
spoke fluently at the age of two, memor- 
ized nursery rhymes after hearing them 
one time, and could read and write at 
the age of five. She was taking dancing 
lessons at three, and singing lessons the 
following year. When she was four 
years old she sang and danced on USO 
shows, at War Bond rallies, and on 




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amateur radio programs. She won first 
place that year in a talent contest on 
the Tune-Out Time program on radio 
station KECA. 

Her first big-time radio appearance 
was with Dinah Shore and Fred Mac- 
Murray on Arch Oboler's Free World 
Theatre program over NBC. When Mrs. 
Nilsson got the call to bring Norma 
Jean down for the audition, she brought 
all her music, her tap shoes, and an 
accompanist, thinking they wanted 
Norma to sing. She was disappointed 
when she found it was a line reading. 
More so when she saw the twelve older 
girls who were there for it. To this 
date she doesn't know why her five- 
year-old was called. 

Neither did Arch Oboler. "What are 
you doing here?" he laughed, shaking 
his head. "Can you read?" 

"No," said Norma gravely, "but I can 
say anything you want me to say, sir." 

Humoring her, the producer ex- 
plained that he was looking for a girl 
to play a little dying Filipino girl in 
the script. She would have one line, and 
repeat it six times. "Say 'Mommy, I 
want a drink of water'," he said, smiling. 

Norma obediently obliged, saying it 
weakly, fretfully, as an ill child might. 
"Mommy . . . I . . . want ... a drink 
of wa — ter." 

"Just the voice I want and the child 
can't read!" exclaimed the producer. 

He decided to use her anyway, and to 
have his assistant, Lew Merrill, squeeze 
Norma Jean's arm to cue her every time 
she said her line. It worked. She was 
perfect on the show. 

"If you'll teach her to read . . . I'll 
use her a lot," the producer told her 
mother. 

Mrs. Nilsson taught her, and within 
four months she could read simple 
script on network shows. She did a 
commercial on the Edgar Bergen show 
one Sunday and so impressed Cecil B. 
DeMille, who was guesting on it, that 
he arranged for her to have a featured 
part on the Radio Theatre in "Penny 
Serenade" with Joseph Cotten and 
Irene Dunne. The word got around the 
studios about the amazing five-year-old 
who could read cold script. Calls poured 
in. During the next two years, she was 
on Screen Guild, the Burns and Allen 
show, Truth and Consequences, and 
many others. On Stars Over Hollywood 
she enacted a macabre double role . . . 
that of a five-year-old girl and a 23- 
year-old woman in a five-year-old's 
body. 

She was doing a small part on This 
Is My Best with Jack Benny one day, 
when Jack Carson and Larry Burns, 
producer of the Carson show, acci- 
dentally dropped into the control booth 
to catch the rehearsal. They knew im- 
mediately that they'd found the girl 
they wanted for the new character they 
were writing into their show. She was 
signed the next week. 

The producer tells you readily that 
Norma Jean is the cleverest child radio 
actress he's ever seen. That she has a 
feeling for comedy and a timing that's 
amazing to find in any child. An under- 
standing of lines and an intonation that 
usually takes years to develop. That 
she reads lines brilliantly, and reads 
them just as well at first rehearal as 
she does on the final show. 

Depite which Norma Jean always 
worries about her performance on a 
broadcast, and as soon as the show is 
off the air, rushes backstage to her 
mother with the anxious query, "Did 
I do good, Mommy? Did I do good?" 

She never gets mike fright. Ask her 
about that and you'll get a surprised 
"Oh no . . . the microphone is my 



friend." She never fluffs a line or 
throws the timing on a show. And she's 
equally watchful to see that nobody 
else fouls anything up either. During 
the broadcast of "The Pied Piper of 
Hamlin" on the Radio Theatre a boy 
actor suddenly became ill and left the 
stage without the producer knowing it. 
When the boy's cue came, Norma Jean 
was on her feet and half-way to the 
mike to read his lines, when a fifteen- 
year-old boy who'd also noticed it, beat 
her there. 

She's only had one or two bad mo- 
ments of ,her own since she's been in 
radio. Once when she was supposed to 
scream on a show and her voice almost 
failed her. And on a Carson program 
when she didn't have the final page of 
her script and had the tag line. They 
were broadcasting from Philadelphia, 
where Jack was making personal ap- 
pearances at a theater. There'd been 
only time for one rehearsal. Right at 
the end of the broadcast Norma dis- 
covered she didn't have her last page. 
She knew she had the tag line. The last 
laugh. She was panicky. She watched 
Carson and Dave Willock carefully, 
knowing she could tell by Jack's ex- 
pression when it was time for her cue. 
When he said his last line and looked 
at her . . . her own line came to her. 
She remembered it. When the curtain 
went down, Norma ran off-stage crying. 
Carson picked her up and soothed her. 
"Oh, I was so frightened, Mister Car- 
son," she wailed. 

Today at nine, Norma Jean has some 
225 shows behind her. She has an ex- 
clusive contract with her sponsor 
that makes her the highest paid child 
actress in radio. She has a dressing 
room with "Miss Nilsson" lettered hand- 
somely on the outside door. She gets 
many fan letters. And back in Rock- 
port, Illinois, there's a Norma Jean 
Nilsson Fan Club, whose members 
meet "over at a neighbor lady's" and 
listen to the show, then adjourn to the 
nearest drugstore for ice cream cones. 

During the broadcasts, Norma sits 
with great dignity on a chair onstage, 
her feet dangling, her full skirt spread 
carefully around her, a perky white bow 
atop her long brown hair. She follows 
the script carefully, turning pages and 
clipping them. Then jumps down and 
takes a serious stance behind her short 
mike for her lines. When the show's 
over and her mother assures her she 
"did good," Norma hurries on to the 
next exciting business on hand. 

ON WEDNESDAYS she's verily a little 
queen for a day. During the three 
hours between the East and West Coast 
shows, Norma Jean and her mother go 
on their regular Wednesday binge. First 
to the Brown Derby for some chicken 
noodle soup and a chocolate eclair. 
Then out shopping for her weekly "re- 
ward," maybe a recording, a new book, 
boots, or a cowgirl suit. Then to the 
Hitching Post theater to see a Western 
movie. 

When the curtain falls on the last 
show, the little queen goes happily but 
sleepily back to the yellow frame house 
with the hopscotch sidewalk. Forgotten 
is the dressing room with the "Miss 
Nilsson" on it. Forgotten the fans, the 
applause. She's just the little girl next 
door again. 

Come Thursdays and she's propped 
on one elbow by the phone in the 
kitchen, giving with the pig latin to 
her girl friend across the street. Out 
come the pants, the red plaid shirt, the 
pistol, the desperado vocabulary. 
Away go timing, diction, cues. 
And Calamity Jean rides again. 



Life Can Be Beautiful 

(Continued from page 41) 

you." Then he would add, "They 
would be a very ungrateful lot if they 
did not look after their mother." 

He lived long enough to see the 
three of them married. "Now," he said, 
to me, "you are going to have a car 
and some of the things we have done 
without." A car was selected and or- 
dered delivered but before it came my 
husband died of a heart attack. 

The children announced that as they 
could not keep up a separate home for 
me, which I never expected them to 
do, the three of them had arranged 
for me to spend four months of each 
year in one of their homes, in rotation. 
I agreed, really feeling happy about 
it. All of my things were sold. Each 
child lived in a different state and 
none of them lived in the state in which 
my married life had been spent and in 
which they had grown up. I had visions 
of going on being of service to my 
families, even though along in years. 
I could mend, wipe dishes and help 
with the children. I felt deeply proud 
and grateful that they seemed to want 
to take care of me. But, having my 
offers of help met with "No thank you, 
Nana," over and over, in each home, 
I finally gave up offering. They were 
kind and considerate of my comfort 
but they wanted nothing I had to .offer, 
evidently. 

I HAD no choice of selection of any- 
thing in the three different rooms in 
which I live. I made no suggestions 
as to the marketing. I ignored any 
act on the part of the children. I simply 
was and am not needed any more. 
The bottom had dropped out of my 
world. Night after night I cried my- 
self into an exhausted sleep. One wake- 
ful night I started thinking and plan- 
ning about the years left me. I se- 
lected churches in the different places 
to attend — not the ones my families 
went to. I had no intention of being 
an incumbrance, even spiritually. 

Then I put those plans into effect. 
I met people and in one church was 
giving a Sunday school class to teach. 
I visited the three different libraries, 
took out membership cards and caught 
up with my long neglected reading. I 
met other older people who spent time 
in the library. I shopped in the stores 
and fixed my wardrobe over, to the 
extent of my small allowance. I knew 
what was being worn. I crocheted 
many gifts during the evenings. I 
helped at Red Cross, met charming 
people, which led to social contacts. 
The_ sum of it all is, now I let my 
families live their own lives as they 
seem to desire, in their homes, just as 
if I were not there. I live my life, cen- 
tered in my three rooms and my inner 
self. The fear of my interference, which 
I did not dream could exist, had been 
broken down. My families seem inter- 
ested in my activities and ask me about 
them. The children seek "Nana" in her 
rooms. I haven't time for self-pity. 
I repeatedly count my blessings. I am 
a fortunate person. I have three homes 
instead of one. I am warm, comfort- 
able and well fed. I have new friends 
and letters from old ones. 

Now that the younger generation 
realize that "Nana" is not going to up- 
set their home routines or spoil their 
children, living is assuming a natural 
basis and a more personal base. 

I have discovered and demonstrated 
that "Life Can Be Beautiful" even 





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93 




It was "eat and run" 

— for all but me! 



■ 



uu 



There I was — with 
those pots and pans to 
struggle with alone ! 
There ought to be a 
law against "eat and 
runners." But now 
I've discovered that 
a pad of S.O.S. is worth 
two menfolk around 
being "helpful" . . . 




V 



94 




when lived in other people's houses 
and homes. 

Mrs. N. E. C. 

TOO YOUNG TO DIE 

Dear Papa David: 

My husband and I had been married 
two years and were expecting our first 
child when I developed a malignant 
growth on my left arm. I had already 
had two operations on my arm, when 
I was still in high school, but it never 
occurred to me that it could be any- 
thing serious. 

Just a growth caused by a bruise, 
the doctor said. I had always been 
more or less a "tomboy" — enjoying all 
kinds of sports, especially swimming. 
So it was logical for this growth to 
be caused by a bruise. The doctor 
calmed my fears and I soon forgot 
about my arm. 

Just two months before my daughter 
was born, the growth reappeared. My 
husband rushed me- to our local doc- 
tor, who sent me at once to one of the 
best-known hospitals in the South. 
It didn't take long to find out how 
things stood. It was either amputate 
my arm or lose my life. At that time 
it was really a big decision to make. 
With an arm off, I'd be a cripple! 
The very thought of it made me shud- 
der. Why, people would pity me. I 
wouldn't be able to do any of the 
things my husband and I had planned. 
I couldn't take part in the sports that 
I'd always enjoyed so much. 

Then, there was my unborn baby. 
I'd never be a real mother to it with 
just one arm. I used every argument 
in the world, while my husband pleaded 
with me to have the operation, that it 
wouldn't make any difference in his 
love for me. 

I spent one whole night just walk- 
ing and thinking. But when morning 
came I'd reached a decision. I'd have 
the operation. I was too young to die, 
only nineteen. I still wanted to live, 
even if I would be handicapped. I 
thought of my child and began to won- 
der why I ever doubted that I wanted 
to live. 

Once my mind was made up I felt 
much better. It was almost a relief 
when I went to the hospital for the 
operation. 

My operation was soon over, and I 
was home again in a very short time. 
I hadn't much more than recovered 
from it, before my daughter was born. 

With a child to rear and a home to 
make, I knew the time had come when 
I could no longer escape reality. I had 
a long, hard road ahead of me, but 
I was determined to make the best of 
it. I knew my husband and parents 
had suffered through this ordeal, as 
much as I had. I didn't want them 
to carry my burden, so my first step 
was to be cheerful. It wasn't always 
easy, but soon it came more naturally 
and I discovered I had a sense of hu- 
mor, which saved many situations. If 
I could get the family and friends to 
laugh, for awhile we'd all forget about 
my handicap. 

I made a game of learning to cook. 
Each time I mastered a new task, it 
was a personal victory to me. It helped 
my morale* to realize I could cook, 
wash dishes and do just about anything 
with one hand that I had done when I 
had two. I was anxious to see if I 
could still swim— and I could! I re- 
learned to drive a car. My pride in 
these small accomplishments was tre- 
mendous. I had never dreamed I 
could lead a normal life with just one 



The most difficult thing I had to fight 
was self-consciousness. People are 
naturally curious, but when someone 
stared at me and whispered something 
to his companion, I felt like running 
to hide. With the aid of an artificial arm, 
I'm gradually adjusting myself and 
gaining self-confidence. 

It has been seven years now since 
I lost my arm. They have not been 
unhappy years. I have learned to ap- 
preciate the little things that other 
people sometimes overlook. I have a 
fine daughter, who is starting her sec- 
ond year in school. I have a devoted 
husband, -who never pampered or pitied 
me, but helped me to stand on my own 
feet. 

I have so much to be thankful for 
and I truly believe that life can be 
beautiful if we work to make it so. 

I like to think that what happens 
to you isn't so important as how you 
take it. 

Mrs. E. I. 

"OUR BOYS" 

Dear Papa David: 

Yes — life can be beautiful when we 
realize that happiness comes only 
through doing things for others; when 
we learn to think of the other fellow 
as our very self. Let me elaborate. 
For many years I tried to find happi- 
ness by chasing every dream; trying 
any and everything new; going here- 
going there always at a whirlwind 
pace. I didn't know what I wanted. 
I wanted happiness — yes — but it had a 
way of always eluding me. When our 
only son was drafted and sent across 
the Pacific, life seemed meaningless 
to me. 

One night sleep just wouldn't come. 
Hour after hour passed. Suddenly I 
had an idea! This was to be an un- 
selfish idea though, one where I was 
to do the giving and sacrificing instead 
of the taking. I could scarcely wait 
till morning came to set my plan in 
motion! This was my plan: we lived 
in the suburbs and I decided to open 
our home over weekends to the 
wounded veterans from the two nearby 
government hospitals. Our home wasn't 
pretentious but it was comfortable and 
we loved to share it.' It was lovely 
in the summer especially. Big old shade 
trees provided places for hammocks 
and swings, as well as giving blessed 
shade on hot summer days. There was 
an outdoor oven where we roasted 
"doggies." There were picnic tables 
and chairs for outdoor parties. It was 
cozy in the winter time, too, because 
we were fortunate in having a huge 
fireplace in the living room where each 
winter night found a cheery roaring 
wood fire blazing in the hearth. 

Within the month, we entertained 
our first boys. This was last Septem- 
ber, and since then there has been a 
steady procession of wounded boys in 
our home. Some had lost both legs, 
some an arm and a leg, others had 
shrapnel wounds; still others had been 
horribly burned and disfigured — many 
were blind. There were boys of every 
faith, boys from humble homes and 
boys from wealthy homes. We treated 
them all alike, but one little twenty- 
year-old Marine who had lost his left 
leg on Okinawa soon became so dear 
to us that he seemed almost like our 
own boy. Every weekend he could 
get a leave he would drop in to see us. 

Just after he was discharged, he and 
his little wife spent a delayed honey- 
moon with us. Their stay at our home 
will always be a cherished memory. 

Then "Johnny" came into our life. 









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Johnny lost his eyesight when a land 
mine exploded in his face in France. 
His courage and determination were a 
constant source of inspiration to me. 
Since meeting Johnny, I have found 
that happiness for which I was seeking 
—a peace and contentment I nave never 
before known. I can't tell in words 
what Johnny's friendship has meant to 
me; I only know he has strengthened 
in me a desire to help others less for- 
tunate than myself. 

Like many another "white collar 
worker" family, we have seen our 
wages decrease and the cost of living 
increase. To entertain these boys each 
week has meant a sacrifice on our part, 
and that fact alone — I know — is re- 
sponsible for the joy and pleasure we 
have received from doing it. What 
money we would have spent for movies, 
trips to the shore, or into New York 
and many other little luxuries, we have 
put into a fund for entertaining these 
boys. What dividends it has paid! Bread 
cast upon the water has truly come 
back to us a hundred fold. My scrap 
book is filled with letters and notes 
from these new friends. 

Yes, Papa David, life can be beauti- 
ful when we forget ourselves and help 
others. 

M. B. 

A MUTUAL GOAL 

Dear Papa David: 

We were full grown when we met 
and were carried away by one of those 
sudden romances. Before we had re- 
covered from the blindness caused by 
the blaze of light we were married. 
Everything was fine for a year, but by 
that time a baby was on the way and 
we were feeling .miserably "stuck." 

The baby came, and we didn't quite 
know what to do. So we spent about 
six months wallowing in discontent and 
self-pity before we decided on what 
seemed to us a sensible course. 

Neither of us believed in divorce, 
and both finally came to the conclusion 
that two sensible adults could work 
out a civilized plan of action. Both of 
us were fully, aware that it would 
take lots of "bear and forbear", but we 
decided not to try it, but to do it. 

We discussed frankly the faults to 
which we both objected in the other, 
and the virtues we especially admired. 
We also decided on what would be 
our mutual goal — a successful mar- 
riage, and a happy home for our child. 

Finally, we worked out a plan where- 
by each of us was to spend one eve- 
ning a week with friends of our own 
sex while the other stayed home, spend 
one evening out together, and make 
one evening "romp night" for the baby. 

My husband enjoys poker parties, 
and he spends his evening usually with 
a group of men playing poker. I spend 
mine with a group of women at the 
movies, or sewing together, or just 



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calling on friends who live nearby. 

Romp night comes on Saturday night 
and is field day for the very young 
generation. 

At first we were both very careful 
to never make inquiries as to the other's 
"night out", and for several months we 
went along being very polite and re- 
served. Then one night my husband 
mentioned casually that he was going 
to play poker at Joe's, and since then 
we both got into the habit of telling 
the other where we are going. 

The oldest child was nearing four 
when we finally took stock of our lives, 
and found that of all our friends we 
had the most peaceful home. Never 
any petty bickering, no subtle insults 
to embarrass others who might be 
present, and never any argument over 
where we were going. We found that 
when one wanted to go to some par- 
ticular place it was usually just the 
spot the other would have suggested. 
Our taste in friends had become more 
in accord, and when we gave one of 
our frequent parties there was no more 
arguing over who was to be invited 
and who excluded. We had even de- 
veloped a liking for the same books 
and music. In fact, we were in accord. 

We romp and play together, worry 
out the budget, sit up together in sick- 
ness, share the joys and sorrows, and 
both of us would be desolate and 
stricken without our partner. 

As to our home life — we found in 
balancing it all out that our home was 
so much pleasanter than most that it 
was a pity not to have more children. 
So we added two more as time went on. 
And there they are, three little tots 
who live in an atmosphere of serenity 
and contentment, never witnessing hard 
words between Mother and Daddy, but 
brought in for a lot of fun and pleasure. 

I wish that I were gifted with the 
words to tell you just what our mar- 
riage is. But maybe you can read 
between the lines. What I wish peo- 
ple knew before they run for the di- 
vorce court is that a little common 
sense and some stick-to-itness would 
soon put most divorce lawyers on the 
relief rolls! A little backbone to 
weather the first hard months when 
your heart aches with the realization 
that your romance is over; a little will 
to stand apart from the herd who are 
taking the easy way out — that's all it 
takes to make a marriage between 
two people who want to succeed. 

Maybe some young women reading 
this might say they tried, but it didn't 
work. What I want to know is — did they 
try hard enough? There's very few 
people need suffer the heartbreak and 
disillusionment of divorce if they put 
their minds to it. A marriage must be 
made with the mind as well as the 
heart. 

G. F. H. 

THROUGH ADVERSITY 

Dear Papa David: 

The Bible tells us that "Adversity 
is God's opportunity" and this is cer- 
tainly true. Through adversity I have 
learned that life can be beautiful. 

I was twenty-two and having what I 
thought was a gay time when I began 
to get paralyzed. It . was a progressive 
spinal trouble and from the beginning 
it was evident that I should be confined 
to a wheel chair within a few years. 
The world looked black to me and I 
swore to my mother that I could com- 
mit suicide when the day came that I 
had to be confined to a chair. (It was 
her courageous and cheerful guidance 
that helped me to adjust myself and 



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turn defeat into triumph.) 

The two years before I went into 
a chair were the worst ones. Fear of the 
future kept me shriveled up, psy- 
chologically speaking, and I wouldn't 
mix with people or take any interest 
in anything. All I did was sit around 
and wallow in a quagmire of self-pity 
while my emotions sank lower and 
lower. I wouldn't go anywhere or see 
anyone who came to the house. I'm 
very certain that I was nearly ready 
for an insane asylum. 

All of a sudden a letter came which 
changed my life. It was from a super- 
intendent of a home for crippled chil- 
dren. She had heard about me and 
knew the state of mind that I was in 
and she invited me to spend a week 
at the home. I was reluctant to go but 
my mother kept urging me and I finally 
accepted the invitation. 

I was still walking but with a good 
deal of difficulty and the long corridors 
at the home were too much for me to 
manage so ray hostess put a wheel 
chair at my disposal when I arrived 
at the home. I didn't feel spectacular 
using a chair because almost everyone 
there was using a chair or crutches. 
Without my realizing it at the time I 
was being psychologically conditioned 
for the future. 

The thing that first impressed me 
about the home was not its physical 
aspect — the attractive brick buildings 
with open casement windows, the big 
solarium on top of the main build- 
ing, the beautifully landscaped grounds 
and the well equipped interiors of the 
buildings — but the spiritual atmosphere 
of the place. Everybody there seemed 
to be so gay and so anxious to help 
each other. Physical impairments were 
ignored as one patient on crutches 
would hang her crutches onto the cor- 
ner posts of a wheel chair and push 
the chair along toward the dining room. 
It seemed as though everybody forgot 
themselves and tried to serve others. 

I arrived at the home on Saturday 
and the next day was Easter. They 
had an impressive service in the audi- 
torium including a cantata. Every one 
of the singers was on crutches but 
each was beautifully groomed. I settled 
myself early in the auditorium and 
watched the people enter. The patients, 
ranging in age from five to eighteen, 
had all degrees of lameness. The largest 
number were on crutches with heavy 
iron braces on at least one leg and 
many had braces on both legs from 
the ankle to above the knee. There 



were a number in wheelchairs and 
several in walkers. Many bedfast pa- 
tients were rolled in to witness the 
program. Most of the patients had 
visitors. Right in front of me there was 
a little girl qf about six with her young 
mother and daddy. She had blonde 
ringlets and a tip-tilted nose. Her blue 
eyes twinkled like stars and she had 
the cutest little face that you could 
imagine. She was so tickled to have 
her parents there, kissing first one and 
then the other. Her daddy held her 
and she had braces on both legs. After 
I watched her for awhile my eyes filled 
with tears. I tried to hold them back 
but the harder I tried the more they 
came. When the program ended and 
people started to rise I felt very con- 
spicuous with tears streaming down 
my cheeks and left the auditorium as 
soon as possible. Right there that after- 
noon something wonderful happened 
within my soul and as the years have 
passed I have realized it more and 
more. 

I stayed at the home a week and 
during that week I saw a lot. I saw how 
the spiritual transcends the physical, 
how mental attitudes are the most im- 
portant thing in life whether one is 
sick or well. When I came home I felt 
as though my soul had been steeled 
for the future and I knew right then 
that nothing could ever throw me 
again. A shiny new wheel chair waited 
in our hall and with a song in my heart 
I got into it. 

All this happened nine years ago — 
nine good years that have taught me 
the real values of life. Three years ago 
I met a young man who is today a de- 
voted fiance and we plan to be married 
in October. I often wonder if there is 
anybody else on earth as happy as 
I am! 

C. E. 

THE BEST HEIRLOOM 

Dear Papa David: 

The best heirloom to leave children 
is not a quilt of many colors, but a 
colorful childhood. There was a large 
family of us, eight boys, and four 
girls. My Dad always said, one ad- 
vantage in having a big family is that 
there's always a scout at home to send 
out in search of any who are missing. 

Dad was a farmer, so we had lots of 
range; though my Mother used to say 
we used the house for a race track, 
she never scolded. Mother's childhood 
was not a happy one. She had to work 
hard. There was never time for play. 




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She always said her children would 
never be fenced-in as she had been. 

We had our work to do, lots of it, 
but what I'm trying to say is, Mother 
and Dad made play and fun out of our 
work. The one that did his or her 
work the neatest and fastest without 
complaining, always got an extra spe- 
cial treat. (Any kind of treat those 
days was extra special.) 

My folks were homesteaders, and 
very poor people. Those were hard 
times. There were fourteen of us at 
the table every meal. I don't see how 
Mother and Dad ever made it but there 
was always plenty to eat. God was al- 
ways with us. 

We had a baseball team. Eight 
brothers and Dad made nine. The Cran- 
ford ball team they were called and 
they would go many a mile to play 
ball, with team and wagon as there 
were no cars those days. 

My brother Wren played the fiddle. 
He played for old time dances for 
miles around. In' summer we went by 
team and wagon and winter, in a bob- 
sled. You could hear the sleighbells 
for miles on a still clear night. Dad and 
Mother were always along; we really 
had fun. 

One by one, we all got married and 
scattered hither and yon. 

In World War II Mother had nine- 
teen grandsons in service. I say Mother, 
because we lost our Dad at the age of 
ninety-three. Mother is now past 
ninety. She has sixty-three grand- 
children, fifty-nine great grandchil- 
dren and nineteen great, great, grand- 
children. The oldest and the young- 
est of us are still living. Brother 
Frank is seventy and Baby Grace is 
forty-two. 

We have a family get-together every 
two years. At our last gathering there 
were one hundred eighty-three for pic- 
nic lunch. There are nine of us chil- 
dren still living. We still love one an- 
other very dearly and often speak of 
our happy childhood. 

R. M. W. 

"I'LL SEE YOU AGAIN" 

Dear Papa David: 

I had gone to a community dance 
one night not caring whether I went 
or not. I was dancing with an old 
friend and they were playing my favor- 
ite song "I'll see you again" when some- 
one cut in, and I looked into the most 
handsome face I ever saw. All he said 
was, "Hi beautiful." I felt I was 
dancing on feathers. Three weeks from 
then we were married, and the same 
day the attack on Pearl Harbor. I was 
Mrs. for just one week when my hus- 
band joined the armed forces and was 
gone. He asked me to sing our song 
every night because he was certain 
he would see me again. After two years 
I never heard from him again. I re- 
ceived word from the war department 
that he was missing in action. 

I joined a troupe of entertainers that 
visited hospitals across the nation. One 
day we were at a certain hospital and 
I had such a feeling something was 
going to happen. I kept hearing Henry 
say, "I will see you again, my darling." 
I got up and started singing. Someone 
out in the crowd stood up, and started 
calling my name, and there he was. 
I learned later he had been a Jap pris- 
oner of war and had lost his memory. 
The Japs had taken, all his identifica- 
tion. He said that the melody of that 
song stayed with him. 

You can't tell us now that God 
doesn't work in mysterious ways. 

H. McK. 




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The Best of Everything 

(Continued from page 35) 

debut didn't amaze David. He'd already 
been the recipient of remarkable gifts 
that welcomed his arrival in the world: 
cablegrams and letters from Moroc- 
co, Turkey, Spain, Argentina, Portugal, 
Brazil and Finland; and a recording of 
"Brahms' Lullaby" made by Allan 
Jones especially for him; afld an ap- 
plication blank for Atwater Kent Au- 
ditions for young singers — sent by At- 
water himself and dated 1964! And 
that's not all. Among the garden of 
flowers sent in his behalf, there were 
two dozen yellow daisies from Elsie 
the Cow! 

The home built by his parents during 
the time he was expected is a revo- 
lutionary one, even for Hollywood. Its 
tremendous bulk stands on a mountain 
top overlooking Beverly Hills and the 
Pacific Ocean, and it half-surrounds 
a swimming pool shaped like a clover- 
leaf . . . yet in spite of its size, it 
only has four rooms downstairs and 
three upstairs. However, each room 
on. the lower floor becomes many in 
use. 

FOR instance, the entrance hall (the 
largest room in the house) is a com- 
bination living room, music room and 
dining room. The dining part of it 
doesn't exist at all except at meal- 
times. Then, before your astounded 
eyes, an eight-by-ten-fdot coffee table 
rises electrically from the floor to din- 
ing table height. Maids set it rapidly, 
and in a flash guests are seated around 
a candle-lit, crystal-sparkling dining 
table — which will vanish again like a 
magician's trick when the meal is over. 
Hyatt designed this marvel, as he de- 
signed the whole house — the free-hang- 
ing stairway leading to the second 
floor, the library on one side of the 
entry hall and the cabana room on the 
other. The cabana room also becomes 
many rooms. Mainly it's a playroom 
for the swimmers to lounge in between 
dives; but it also contains two dressing 
rooms for them to change in — and a 
fourteen-foot couch converts into twin 
beds in case of weekend guests! 

Upstairs, there is a small nursery for 
David, a small kitchen for his meal 
preparation; and an enormous glass- 
enclosed bedroom for Ginny and Hyatt. 

But Ginny has little time to spend 
at her new home in the day-time. She's 
too busy with her five careers: radio 
star, on the Ginny Simms Program 
every Friday night over CBS. And 
movie star — she's been in That's Right, 
You're Wrong; You'll Find Out; Play- 
mates; Here We Go Again; Seven Days 
Leave; Hit the Ice; Broadway Rhythm; 
Shady Lady and Night and Day. And 
farmer — she owns a 65-acre ranch in 
San Fernando Valley where her par- 
ents now live, raising oranges, 1,000 
chickens, and 20 cows. And recording 
artist — her records are best-sellers. 

And business woman. In this last 
role, she has offices at the Beverly 
Hills Hotel, so as to keep her public 
life completely removed from her home 
life. From these offices, she runs the 
Montana Corporation, a real estate de- 
velopment company of which she is 
president, and another project: her 
"Lest We Forget Foundation," which 
she organized to stimulate home talent 
for hospitalized veterans. By no means 
did she forget her soldier pals. Every 
week last winter she held auditions for 
veterans who wanted to act or sing; 
and the weekly winner was presented 



on her radio show and then given a 
three-week contract with a night club, 
band, or radio station. 

Only a few weeks ago came Ginny's 
greatest triumph: a cablegram inviting 
her to a command performance in Lon- 
don for their Majesties, the King and 
Queen of England. 

"But I can't go," Ginny mnans. "I 
have other commitments here!" 

However, if their Majesties don't 
mind waiting a few months, Ginny may 
be within waving distance. She's plan- 
ning to accept a Noel Coward offer, 
if he'll wait until next Summer — when 
she'll be off the American air for a 
spell. It will be a picture production 
of his play "Design for Living," done 
with music. 

Meanwhile, she's carrying out her 
half-dozen careers in smiling efficiency 
— and managing to indulge in her fa- 
vorite recreation on the side: window- 
shopping. This inevitably leads to her 
shopping behind the windows, and in- 
variably she comes back on the side- 
walk carrying a brand-new suit. She 
wears suits continually, and all kinds, 
from sports to fancy satin cocktail jobs. 
Her only dresses are bought to wear on 
her radio broadcasts — again to please 
the GI's, who told her during the war 
how they liked best to see her dressed. 
"Feminine but simple," they ordered, 
and she followed their wishes. She has 
one mania well known to all her fans: 
she's never seen without a tiny black 
linen handkerchief in her hand. 

WITH Hyatt, you'll often find her in 
their pool, or bicycling around Bev- 
erly Hills, or golfing. She also plays a 
mean game of tennis. And to offset her 
exercise, she blithely eats whatever she 
chooses — and she usually chooses the 
same two things: Southern Fried 
Chicken and her mother's special Texan 
pecan pie. What happens to her figure 
after storing away these rich items? 
Nothing! Her weight stays at 120 in 
spite of everything, and (as any man 
will tell you) that's just right for her 
five-feet-six-inch figure! 

But everyone will tell you that every- 
thing about Ginny is right. They ought 
to know — their opinions put her where 
she is today. And their opinions will 
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A Statement about the YWCA 

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II 



Held in a web of indifference . . ." 



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"But I broke through it!" 



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Anyone Can Make 
Mistakes 

(Continued from page 27) 

he must have been all of fifty. But I 
don't remember being so rude to the 
children my own age." 

"Well, I'm relieved that you've no- 
ticed it!" Fanny Barbour put away 
her unfinished afghan firmly. "I didn't 
want to say anything, Claudia, but 
the way she's been treating Hank and 
Pinky and Margaret lately — " 

Cliff stretched his long legs out to 
the fire and exhaled a comfortable 
sigh. "My, I'm glad I'm over the get- 
ting-experience age. It's the only 
pleasant thing about being older — you 
no longer have to learn things the 
hard, adolescent way. I've had my 
experiences and I can profit by them 
. . . and don't raise your eyebrows 
that way, Dad." 

"I was just going to say that I wasn't 
aware that age was any proof against — " 

WHATEVER Father Barbour might 
have been going to say was lost in 
the banging open of the door. A draft 
of cold air blew in and in its wake 
came Teddy and Paul. 

"Hi, everybody!" Paul's cheeks were 
ruddy from the cold and tiny beads of 
moisture sparkled in Teddy's hair. The 
group around the fire made room for 
two more chairs and Cliff unceremoni- 
ously yanked Teddy down into one of 
them. 

"Oof! Pay some consideration to 
my poor, tired muscles, running up 
and down that hospital corridor all 
day," she groaned. Then she leaned 
back and relaxed. "Oh, this is good! 
— the fire and all. I've been feeling 
restless all day, sort of let-down after 
the holidays, I guess. Or maybe it's 
because I've been wondering all day 
about your surprise, Cliff. I think it's 
mean of you to hint like that and then 
leave me to guess." 

"A surprise?" Voices chimed in from 
all over the circle. 

Cliff grinned. "Hah! . . . I've got you 
all excited now. I've been waiting for 
Paul and Teddy to come home before 
I sprang — sprung — it on you." He 
paused for a minute and spun out the 
wait with dramatic effect. "How would 
you all like to get away for a weekend, 
up in the mountains? Hawk's Nest 
Lodge, up in the High Sierras, and all 
ours for three' whole days, Friday, 
Saturday and Sunday — " 

"A mountain lodge — Cliff, tell us — " 

"Hey, wait, all of you. Let me ex- 
plain." But Cliff didn't mind the ex- 
citement — he was excited, too. "A man 
I know in business — a Mr. Allenby — 
offered me the use of his lodge. Asked 
me if I wouldn't like to use it — at no 
cost to us — just like that. I was 
bowled over. He must have heard me 
grousing about being in the January 
doldrums and out of the goodness of 
his heart he said he thought our whole 
family might enjoy such a weekend, 
especially since his lodge wasn't being 
used at all these past two months." 

"What a nice person he must be!" 
Teddy spoke for all of them. 

Cliff puckered his forehead. "I 
never knew him well, but I must say 
he certainly has behaved like a friend. 
Well — what do you all think?" 

"Oh — could we, do you think, Father 
Barbour?" 

"Well, this is a most extraordinary 
offer! A man you hardly know, Cliff, 
offering a horde of total strangers the 




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use of his probably luxurious cabin." 

" — and he means it, too," Cliff added, 
with emphasis. "I thought at first it 
was one of those vague 'you-must- 
come-over-sometime' gestures, but he 
insisted on giving me the keys and he 
drew a map for me — it's only a two 
hour drive — and he says to go ahead 
and use any of the canned food there 
we need. We will have to take 
blankets, though, and some food. I 
thought we could start right after the 
youngsters get through school Friday. 
What do you think, Mom?" 

"It sounds very pleasant." They 
could all see Mother Barbour turning 
over problems and advantages in her 
mind and fitting last-minute details in 
order. "I think we could all manage." 

"Then it's all decided?" Cliff looked 
around at their excited, enthusiastic 
faces. 

In the corner by the fireplace Hazel 
turned quietly to Fanny Barbour. 
"Well, Mother, I guess this means a 
little work — what food to bring — 
menus — and enough blankets — and a 
first-aid kit — " 

". . . and skis — and we'll have to 
round up hiking boots — " 

THERE was a lot of work to be done 
in the next two days, but there was 
no lack of willing hands in the Barbour 
family and the old, fine habit of co- 
operation made things move. Hardest 
of all to cope with were the children. 

All but Joan, of whom Claudia said 
drily, "I think this week she's being 
Elaine the Lily Maid of Astolat." 

Which was not quite correct. Yes- 
terday she had been Elaine. But today, 
and while she dreamily got out of 
the car to help Claudia and Nicholas 
stow away the last bundles — even when 
the cars were all finally under way and 
rolling along the countryside — Joan 
was in her own world where she was 
not a fourteen-year-old going on a 
holiday, but a sad Juliet, forced by her 
parents to leave behind her Romeo. 
At fourteen, the fact that Mr. Stanley 
Edwards was a slightly motheaten 
teacher of high school English, 
stooped and thin and balding, didn't 
bother Joan in the least. 

Accurately diagnosed — as her mother 
had done — Joan was a fourteen-year- 
old with a "crush" on her English 
teacher. 

"Oh, look — Nicky — no, don't look! 
Keep your eyes on this road . . . but 
did you ever see such beauty? Those 
snowy peaks — " Claudia leaned out 
of the car window, drinking in the 
pure, cold mountain air. "Can you see 
— ouch! — what in the world — ?" 

"They are just my books, Claudia. 
You moved and the sharp edges caught 
you." 

"Joan." There was quiet despair in 
Claudia's voice. "Do you mean you 
brought all those books with you to 
read? What are they — school books?" 

The pretty, dark-haired girl squirmed 
on the car seat. "Not exactly. Mr. 
Edwards — " and her parents heard the 
tiny sigh of adoration that went with 
her beloved's name — "Mr. Edwards 
gave me some supplementary reading 
in English literature because I am so 
interested." 

Whatever Claudia might have said 
about the advisability of doing extra 
reading on a holiday like this was lost 
as the car took a final, precipitous 
curve and rolled to a stop on a small, 
flat, jutting plateau. 

"We're here!" 

"Dan and Hazel and the boys beat 
us!" — Teddy identified the other car 
pulled up in front of the rambling log 




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house. She tumbled out of the car 
with Nicky and Skipper following. 

But Claudia put a restraining hand on 
Joan's arm as the girl prepared to fol- 
low. "Joan, dear. Hank and Pinky 
are building a snowman over there. 
If they ask you to join them, remem- 
ber they are your cousins and don't be 
rude." 

"I'm sorry, Claudia." A penitent 
flush stained Joan's soft cheeks. "It's 
just that they don't realize — " 

"I know you don't mean to hurt 
them — all right, Nicky! — we're com- 
ing — " and the two of them hurriedly 
climbed out of the car . . . only to be 
almost bowled over by a rush from an 
excited Margaret. 

"We're building a snowman, Joan! 
Skippy — if you throw that snowball, 
you know what will happen to you!" 

Skippy threw and the battle was on. 

IT was pell-mell, helter-skelter, and 
no quarter given or asked. Even 
Claudia found herself grabbing hand- 
fuls of the crusty snow, crushing them 
into lop-sided balls and pelting Nicky 
and Dan . . . dodging their aim in re- 
turn as best she could for laughing 
so hard. Only the sedate arrival of 
the third car finally stopped the 
battle. 

"Oh!" Hazel clung helplessly to her 
husband, "Dan, you look like a snow- 
man, yourself! What must Mother and 
Father Barbour think of us, behaving 
like children? We should have had 
the fire going and the beds made up, 
instead of playing like this." 

"Nonsense!" Mother Barbour had 
overheard. "Paul — hand me that 
basket from the back seat — Hazel, 
what makes you think you are too 
grown-up and dignified to be caught 
snow-fighting? As a matter of fact, I 
feel rather like tossing one myself." 
And, fitting the action to her words, 
Fanny picked up a little pellet and 
wickedly flipped it at Henry. 

Over on their left as they reached the 
porch, the sun sent lingering shafts of 
filtered light down icy peaks and 
slopes of winter pine, but darkening 
shadows in the hollows were proof that 
the afternoon was nearly gone. Here 
on the plateau it was still light. The 
lodge, half in sunshine and half in 
shadow, looked inviting — like a Hansel- 
and-Gretel painting — from its weather- 
vane on the peaked ridge-pole to the 
heavy log sides and stone-buttressed 
walls and wide, redwood porch. 

There was a tiny wisp of smoke com- 
ing from the chimney. 

"Look . . . someone must be in 
there." With a slight gesture Mother 
Barbour stopped them all on the 
porch. "Let me count noses. Hazel, 
Dan — Claudia — Nicky — the boys over 
there — " 

"Joan!" With a desperate sigh, 
Claudia pushed open the door. "Look, 
Mother Barbour — there's your fire- 
builder. On a day like this! — when 
everyone else is out having fun — she 
sits and reads books!" 

A short time later big logs blazed 
in the fireplace; the hearth had been 
brushed; the lodge's main room was 
swept and couch pillows shaken and 
brushed; the boys' skis had been 
stacked neatly in the corner. Mantel 
and windows were garnished with the 
berry-laden boughs Hazel had gath- 
ered. Oil lamps were cleaned and 
trimmed and lit; gaily-colored picnic 
dishes were on the long trestle-table 
and the call came for supper. 

"Come and get it, as we Westerners 
say when we're out roughing it!" Dan 
led the way. 



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"I would hardly call this bountiful 
repast 'roughing it'," Nicky com- 
mented, holding out Mother Barbour's 
chair. "I remember reading my Mark 
Twain in England and wondering what 
in the world hardtack-and-beans 
tasted like. I thought I might be find- 
ing out today, but not from the looks 
of this loaded table." 

"If you really insist," Jack threat- 
ened, "I think we could possibly find 
some hardtack for you." But Nicky 
declined in favor of the supper in front 
of him and he and the rest did full 
justice to hot casserole, sausages, salad, 
biscuits and cocoa, pudding and cake. 

Barely had they finished, when Hank 
and Pinky were begging permission 
to return to their construction job out- 
side on their snowman. 

"Run out and help them, Joan," 
Nicky urged her, in his quiet voice. 
But his hand on her arm was firm. 
"I don't think it would be wise for you 
to sit indoors all weekend and you've 
done enough reading for the evening." 

Reluctantly Joan drew on mittens 
and jacket and went outdoors. It was 
seldom that Nicky exerted his 
authority with her but when he did 
there was no question of disobedience. 

"Hi, Joannie — " the four hooded and 
jacketed figures turned eagerly toward 
her as she came out on the porch. 
They were shapeless, silhouetted 
against the strong light of the lamps — 
almost as shapeless as the button-eyed, 
derby-hatted snow man they were 
pounding and patting, and their breaths 
were steamy in the cold air. "Your 
hands aren't wet like mine — help me 
to make his nose. I can't get the shape 
right." Margaret seized on her help. 

JOAN's indifference as she patted the 
fat, moon-like face was evident to the 
boys. Now they vaguely felt that 
something was wrong, but they couldn't 
quite put their mental fingers on it. 
In their language, Joan was acting 
"dopey." 

"Not like that! Whattya want him 
to look like — like — " and then an un- 
conscious imp in Pinky, with the most 
innocent intentions in the world, 
prompted him to say — "like that sour- 
puss Mr. Edwards in school?" 

He was completely unprepared for 
the tornado he had unloosed. Joan 
whirled on him. "Don't you dare call 
Mr. Edwards a sourpuss! You're just 
a — a fourteen-year-old kid! You don't 
appreciate a fine, sensitive nature like 
his, having to 'teach school when he 
knows more about Shakespeare and 
sonnets and stuff like that than any- 
one else in the world. Don't you 
dare — !" 

"Hey!— what did I say? I didn't 
mean — why, everyone calls teachers 
sourpusses; nobody means anything. 
Besides, the way he keeps his nose in 
the air like he had just smelled some- 
thing bad — " 

Hank butted in. He and Pinky were 
twins and Joan's remark about their 
being only fourteen had stung. "And 
look who's calling who a kid! You 
aren't so old yourself, Joan. And — 
watch out — ! . . . you're knocking his 
head off!" 

It was too late. Joan's angry, 
theatrical gesture had decapitated the 
snowman and the round head and 
derby thumped to the ground. 

"Now see what you've done!" wailed 
Margaret. 

"Well, don't cry. I'll put it together 
again." Joan hastily scooped up the 
armful of hard-packed snow and set 
it firmly again on the rest of the body. 
"There — it's hardly dented!" 




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R 

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106 




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\ 

TheVothers didn't answer. With a 
quick Sgallantry that would have 
amazed', their elders, Hank and Pinky 
saw thajt Margaret was close to tears. 
Making a solid phalanx they turned 
their backs on Joan. Even Skippy, 
who had been unconcernedly making 
buttons down the front of the snow- 
man's shirt all this while and seeming 
to pay little or no attention to the 
rumpus, turned his back on her. Over 
his shoulder he scowled. "Go 'way!" 
he ordered. 

Joan wanted to cry and she was 
angry at herself and at the boys and 
Margaret for making her want to cry. 
What would Mr. Edwards think if he 
saw her becoming so upset over such a 
childish mishap? And thinking of her 
idol once more, Joan sniffed and threw 
her shoulders back. She wouldn't cry. 
She wouldn't apologize. She couldn't 
be expected to play with children — 
not any more. 

No questions were asked as she slid 
into a corner near Mother Barbour's 
chair near the fire. And even when the 
boys and Margaret and Skippy came 
in and studiously, politely, frigidly 
ignored her, the adults refrained from 
any remarks. It was obvious that 
something had happened, but the Bar- 
bours had learned long ago that there 
was a time and a place for question- 
ing — and there was a time and a place 
for pretending not to see. 

"It should be ghost stories tonight, 
with that wind beginning to howl out- 
side," Hazel suggested. 

"IT should be bedtime — early — for 
I some young people I know — " Mother 
Barbour put in. 

"Oh, please, Grandmother Barbour — " 
Margaret begged — "let us stay up 
for a while. Let's all sing something. 
Uncle Jack, please sing for us." 

So Jack warmed them up with a 
spirited rendition of "When It's Spring- 
time in the Rockies" and one by one 
they came in on the chorus. With this 
start they went into "Jingle Bells." 
Skippy had brought his favorite mouth- 
organ and gave them all the pitch and 
away they went — so many evenings 
had they spent together in this way 
that their voices blended into the whole 
without effort or fault. 

"... floats through the air — " 

" with the greatest of ease — " 

" the daring young man 

on the flying trapeze!" Paul and Dan 
came through in fine, ringing style, 
and were roundly applauded while the 

song still went on " and my 

love he has carried away! Trala!" 

With a flourish in the grand style, 
Father Barbour brought the concert to 
a close. "Bedtime!" he announced. 
"Scamper, Hank and Pinky — or you'll 
be missing a good many hours of beau- 
tiful daylight in the morning." 

Joan's dreams were troubled. 
Through them walked the tall, slender, 
stooping figure of Mr. Edwards, peer- 
ing at her in his near-sighted way and 
smiling his frosty smile. She was 
Elaine, the Lily Maid — no, she was 
Guinevere — no, she was Helen of Troy 
and her Grecian gown clung to her 
feet as she approached him . . . She 
woke with a start. It took a second to 
realize where she was and that the 
snow in her dreams was actually the 
cold wind blowing in on her neck 
through the open window. 

It was not a good start for the 
morning, and the cheerful bustle 
around the kitchen stove and the 
preparations for breakfast did nothing 
to lighten her spirits. There was a 
funny lump in her throat when she 



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saw the way the others — Hank and 
Pinky and Margaret — continued to ig- 
nore her, but she clung stubbornly 
to her lofty position. They were just 
children, and they would have to 
realize she was grown-up. 

With the practiced efficiency • of 
many years, the women of the Barbour 
family had breakfast on the table and 
everyone fed in no time at all. The 
clamor died down and as soon as the 
last dish was dried, everyone was 
bundled up in warm clothes again and 
shooed outdoors. 

Even Joan yielded at last to the pull 
of crystal whiteness, sun-sparkled, out- 
doors. Perhaps she could find some 
mental stimulation if she followed one 
of the pathless openings in the forest 
of the lodge. 

Unnoticed by the others, Joan set off. 

Indeed, the others were much too 
busy to notice what any one person 
was doing. The short battle of the 
day before had given rise to plans on 
a real, full military scale and Hank and 
Pinky, aided by Jack, Cliff, Betty and 
Teddy were busy scooping up snow 
for their team's fortifications, while 
Nicky and Paul and Dan assisted 
Claudia and Betty and Hazel in erect- 
ing breastworks from their vantage 
point up a slight rise by the porch. 
This would be an epic struggle. 

LUNCHTIME only postponed the prep- 
arations. It was buffet style and as 
fast as one had eaten, he — or she — 
rushed back- to the battle arena. 

So it was small wonder that Joan's 
absence went unnoticed. 

In the afternoon — the captains hav- 
ing declared themselves ready, the first 
shot was fired. "Good shot, Dan! — 
come and take us!" and from then on 
it was every man for himself. Father 
Barbour appointed himself referee, 
ruling on such fine points as the size 
and shape of regulation snowballs and 
the distance from which such must be 
thrown. But even he, finally, gave up 
as the battle became a wild melee. 

"Oh! — I don't know when I've had 
such fun!" Hazel gasped from the 
snowbank where she had been pushed. 
"No— Cliff! No!— I've had my face 
washed five times already. I give up. I 
yield." 

"Then I win!" panted Cliff. 

"Who wins? You?" and Teddy threw 
herself upon her own erstwhile cap- 
tain and tumbled him into the same 
snowbank. 

"Heey — it's a draw! No — it isn't — 
they've got our flag!" Margaret tore 
herself away from her uncle Nicholas' 
grasp and raced after the victorious 
Hazel. "Get it, Hank!" 

"Okay!" But then Hank stopped 
short and a ludicrous expression of 
dismay spread across his face. "I can't. 
It's not fair. I'd have to tackle her — 
and you can't tackle a lady!" 

Under cover of the general laughter 
and the lighthearted postmortems over 
who was the best shot and who had 
won and which side had conducted 
itself the best, Pinky drew Hank aside. 
His face wore an unusual soberness. 

"Say, Hank — have you seen Joan 
around anywhere? She isn't in the 
house. She's been gone all morning 
and all afternoon. I don't like it — not 
that it's any of my concern." 

"Yeah — what do we care where Miss 
Smarty-Aleck is?" But Hank stayed 
beside Pinky and his face reflected the 
soberness, even the embarrassment of 
his twin. A struggle was going on in- 
side both of them. To himself, Hank 
admitted a growing uneasiness but he 
didn't like to admit it. Joan was 




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R 

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probably okay somewhere and she 
would just laugh at them for being 
kids, if she knew they were worried. 
Still— 

"Did anyone see her leave, Pinky?" 

"No. But when I was over by those 
pines that go around the mountain, I 
saw tracks and her handkerchief's in 
one of them." 

Hank became truculent. "There's 
nothing stopping us going the same 
way, is there? It's a free country. We 
could just sort of stroll along there 
and if we meet Joan, we could just 
pretend we were going for a walk, too." 

They waited for no further planning. 
They knew the rest of the family would 
be busy for a long time talking over the 
fine points of their snow game and 
beginning the slow, easy preparations 
for supper. They wouldn't be missed 
for a while. Joan's tracks were easy 
to follow. The two went swiftly 
through the trees — but continuing 
their pretense, even to each other, that 
it was the walk through the forest and 
not anxiety for her safety that 
prompted their speed. 

It was hard to say when panic first 
touched them, 

PERHAPS it was the absolute still- 
ness. No sound of snow crunching 
underfoot — except for their own — 
reached them. Perhaps it was the sun 
leginning to sink low in the West. Or 
ierhaps it was a premonition of danger 

iat touched them when they came to 
the huge pile of boulders and they saw 
that Joan's footprints had stopped. 

Or when they saw the deep, yawning 
crevice cutting like a gash beside the 
boulders. 

"Hank — she must have come this 
way." Pinky's voice was shaken. "Can 
you see . . . down there?" 

His twin was peering down the sheer 
side of the hole. He shivered and 
stepped back. "No. Pinky, she must 
have crossed these boulders. She 
must have. We could do it and she 
can climb anything we can." 

They looked at each other. Should 
they go back? Should they get help? 
But suppose it was just a false alarm 
and Joan had crossed the boulders and 
then found her way back by a different 
route. Wouldn't she laugh at them or, 
maybe, act superior and say she was 
quite able to take care of herself? 
Besides, it was getting late and if they 
went back it would be dark by the time 
they brought help here again. Better 
to go on and take a look. 

They tried hard not to be aware of 
the steep precipice on their right as 
they clambered over the rocks. Once 
on, they found the going not too bad 
and the uneven surface gave them foot- 
holds. 

"It's a good thing we've spent a lot 
of time on the ranch," Hank panted 
as they pulled themselves over the 
rocks. "Look — Pinky — isn't that little 
bush trampled over there?" 

Pinky examined it. "Sure. And 
there's a footprint in that snow over 
there and — Hank! she did come this 
way! There's another and — look! — 
she bent that branch from that little 
tree getting down from that rock. 
The snow's all brushed off it. Come 
on, Hank." Gingerly the two made 
their way across, sometimes losing the 
trail and having to go back and start 
all over again, but mostly their sharp 
eyes were learning to read the story 
that scuffed rock and pebbles kicked 
and branches rubbed or broken had to 
tell. 

Then — suddenly — they were all the 
way over. In front of them the forest 



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stretched on again, white and un- 
trammeled. 

The letdown was almost too much for 
them. Whatever they had expected to 
see — Joan wandering through the 
woods — her green cap bobbing in front 
of them — it was not this. This nothing- 
ness. 

"We'd better go back, Pinky." 
Hank's voice was embarrassed. "She 
probably never crossed those boulders 
at all. We probably just imagined we 
saw those signs. Maybe she stopped at 
the foot of the rocks and re-traced her 
steps and then branched off somewhere 
else and went home." 

"Yeah — I'll bet she's sitting in front 
of the fire reading, right now." Pinky 
didn't look at his twin. It was he who 
had started them on this wild-goose 
chase. Slowly the two turned their 
backs and hesitatingly, awkwardlx, 
they began their return journey. 

It was tjien they heard it. It was so 
faint that it seemed to them afterwards 
pure accident they heard it at all. A 
cry — a tiny sound — 

The call came again — stronger this 
time. 

Both boys let out the air in their 
lungs in one huge yell and then they 
plunged helter-skelter down the last 
rock and into the snow. "We're com- 
ing, Joan! It's us! It's Hank — Pinky — 
hold on!" 

THEY found her huddled beside a log 
where she had fallen — the same log 
she had walked along from the pile 
of rocks. That was why there were 
no footprints in the snow. 

"Hank — Pinky!" she was almost cry- 
ing. Her face was white and. drawn 
with pain, but she tried to smile at 
them and there was no trace of con- 
descending left in her face — she was a 
badly-frightened little girl. 

"Oh — I'm so glad to see you! Are 
the others coming? I thought no one 
would know where I had gone and I 
would have to stay here and freeze — 
is Mother worried?" 

"Naw — " Hank answered her gruffly, 
to hide his emotion. "They're still 
playing games. Pinky and me just 
happened to be passing by this way and 
we heard you calling — " his voice trailed 
off. 

"Where does it hurt, Joan?" Pinky 
rushed in to forestall any sentimental 

"My ankle. I can't walk. I think I 
twisted it or something." 

Not another word was spoken about 
the rescue. At their age, actions speak 
louder than words and gratitude was 
something not to be said aloud. The 
delicate balance between the outward 
front and the inner feelings was too 
highly prized to be broken. 

While they figured out ways and 
means of re-crossing the boulders; 
while they arranged their hands and 
wrists in a "preacher's seat" to carry 
her, she told them what had happened. 
She had been dreaming along, hardly 
conscious of where she was going, when 
she had slipped on the log, and fallen 
with her foot crumpled up underneath 
her. 

"You probably sprained it, dopey," 
Pinky told her as they started off over 
the rocks. 

This part was slow and long and 
tortuous. There was little sunlight left 
and all three of them felt a deep, fran- 
tic anxiety to get over the difficult 
rocks before they lost the daylight 
entirely. Nothing was said — only their 
fears communicated themselves to 
each other — and Joan kept herself 
tensely still so as not to disturb them, 



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109 



Amazing 
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even with the pain from her dangling 
foot becoming sharper every moment. 

It was bad but they made it. 

"Wheee!" Joan let out her breath in 
a long, whistling exhale when they 
were finally across and the boys sat 
down to rest a moment. The throb- 
bing in her foot subsided for the 
moment. "I must have been fast asleep 
when I crossed those rocks before. If 
I had known how scary they were — " 

"You were probably thinking you 
were walking up the aisle in English 
class — " and then Hank could have 
kicked himself for that impulse. 

Joan had stiffened. Then, slowly, she 
relaxed. Her lips softened and quiv- 
ered, and she looked down. "I guess 
you're right," she said, meekly. "I 
guess you're right about — about a lot of 
things, Hank. I've been kinda silly, 
lately. I don't think just a few months 
makes any difference at all in people's 
ages — but I guess twenty years is a lot 
of difference. A man, say about forty- 
four — why, he's practically elderly, 
isn't he?" 

"Yeah — especially Mr. Stanley Ed- 
wards." Hank was relentless. 

It was too dark now for them to see 
the color come up in Joan's cheeks but 
they felt her embarrassed squirming. 
"I know — aren't some people dopey, 
though?" 

IT was clear admission of fault. It was 
conscience-stricken apology — at least 
in their language — and the boys could 
ask no more. 

"Come on — we'd better be getting 
out of here. It's dark and we've got a 
long — hey! — look.' do you see what I 
see — those torches? — they're coming 
this way — " Pinky yelled through the 
night — "Over here! — we're over 
here!—" 

Answering shouts echoed through 
the woods and the plunging torches 
came in their direction. It was only a 
matter of minutes before they were 
surrounded by the male members of 
the Barbour family — before Joan was 
tenderly picked up and safe in Nicky's 
arms. 

For a while no one could make him- 
self be heard. Questions, answers, ex- 
planations flew back and forth in dis- 
jointed spurts . . . 

"There — there — it's all over. You're 
safe." Nicky cradled the girl in his 
arms and patted her shoulder. "Come 
on — let's let the story wait until we're 
back in the house — " 

The rest of the way seemed short. In 
no time at all they were within sight of 
the lodge and a few more steps brought 
them inside and to the fire .... the 
boys shivering as Dan and Hazel 
whisked off their heavy jackets and 
wet mittens and rubbed their sore, 
numbed wrists. 

"Bring her into the bedroom, Nicky." 
Claudia's voice was controlled, but her 
hands shook a little as she helped her 
daughter off with her clothes. It had 
been an anxious, terrifying half-hour 
of waiting — but the children were safe. 

"And you youngsters just decided to 
go look for her without saying a word. 
Hmmm." Father Barbour looked at 
the two boys in front of the fire. "I 
don't know whether to say you were 
very brave or very foolish." 

"They found her, Henry. That's all 
that's important," Fanny reminded 
him. 

"Oh, we were just going for a 
walk — " but there was no need for that 
pretense any longer, and the two boys 
looked sheepishly at each other. It was 
rather pleasant, this being treated like 
heroes. Especially since everything was 



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all right again between them and Joan. 

And Hazel brought them their sup- 
per on a tray and everyone had to hear 
the story over and over again. There 
were all the proper "oh's" and "ah's" at 
the right places and Margaret made a 
face at them because they hadn't 
thought to include her in their search- 
ing party. Altogether, it was a most 
satisfying ending. 

"Well — this has been quite a day!" 
Hazel began, after the children were 
safe in bed and the older members of 
the family had again drawn their 
chairs up in a circle around the fire. "I 
suppose we should be grateful to Hank 
and Pinky for not saying anything — 
the rest of us barely had time to be 
really frightened before they were 
found. I didn't even miss Joan until 
we were eating!" 

"It's because we were taking it for 
granted that she was somewhere 
around the lodge, curled up with a 
book," Mother Barbour defended them 
all. 

"AF course, Mother. I didn't think it 

U strange that she wasn't in the snow- 
ball battle with the rest of us. But, 
really, Hank and Pinky were quite 
brave to set off like that and find her. 
Especially when she's been so rude to 
them," Claudia said, ruefully. 

Father Barbour nodded his head 
sagely. "Adults might learn a good 
lesson from the simplicity of relation- 
ship that exists between young people. 
The boys knew — or sensed — that Joan 
was just going through a natural stage 
of behavior. They didn't like it, but I 
don't believe there was any rancor in 
them. They may become exasperated 
with her, but in time of trouble they all 
cling together — remembering the real 
Joan who has been their playmate and 
forgetting her recent actions." 

"May I come in?" a small voice in- 
terrupted them, and a hippity-hop 
from the doorway turned all their 
heads. 

"Joan — you shouldn't be trying to 
walk." Nicky reached the girl in two 
strides, swooping her up from where 
she stood, forlornly, like a stork on one 
leg. "Of course you may come in. 
Here's some supper for you on a tray." 
And he gently placed her in his own 
comfortable chair next to Claudia. 
"Here you are — here's a little box that 
will make a nice table for you. It has 
some books on it — I guess they're 
yours, Joan. What shall I do with 
them?" 

There was a glimmer of laughter in 
back of Joan's eyes. "I don't care. 
They're just cluttering up the place. 
School books don't belong on a vaca- 
tion, anyway." 

It was almost an audible sigh of re- 
lief that went round the circle. Then 
everyone began talking at once — tact- 
fully accepting Joan's new under- 
standing and curbing their impulse to 
speak to her directly about it. Only 
Claudia had that right. 

"So you don't plan to sacrifice your 
youth on an altar of books, Joannie?" 

"I guess I was just showing off when 
I told Mr. Edwards I was so very in- 
terested in English literature, Mother. 
And then he gave me all those books 
and I think he was showing off, too. He 
knew I couldn't understand all of 
them." Scorn touched her voice. 

"Don't blame him," Claudia cau- 
tioned. "Mr. Edwards is really a very 
fine teacher. I'm sure he thought your 
interest was genuine — how was he to 
know it was in the teacher and not in 
the subject?" 




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Joan gurgled a little, chuckling. "I 
know — but all the time I was lying 
there in the snow, I kept thinking: if 
it hadn't been for my being so wrapped 
up in the Lady of the Lake I couldn't 
see where I was going, I wouldn't have 
been the lady in the snow. And I 
missed the snow fight this afternoon! 
Just think — two whole days of the 
holiday gone and now I have a sprained 
ankle and I can't have any fun tomor- 
row, either!" 

No need now for anyone to labor the 
point. No need for glances exchanged 
in silence. Joan was herself again; or 
at least she was over a hurdle — "ready 
for the next," Claudia thought half 
ruefully, half relievedly. 

Father Barbour had overheard. He 
turned to Cliff. "The penalty almost 
seems too harsh for the crime, doesn't 
it?" 

Cliff sighed, but, judging from the 
moody look on his face, the sigh was 
for himself as well. "As the boys say, 
Dad — you don't know the half of it. 
Remember when the phone rang this 
evening — " indicating the old-fash- 
ioned wall set above their heads, with 
its handle for cranking — "Remember 
that I thought it was our ring here — 
two long and three short? Well, it was. 
And it was for me. The rest of you 
were too busy getting ready to find 
Joan to pay any attention." 

"DUT who would be calling you here 
D in the mountains?" 

"The only one who knew I was here, 
Mr. Ezra Allenby— the old fox! Waited 
until I was enjoying his hospitality 
and then asks for a favor — a favor 
he knows very well I would say no 
to in a minute, any other time. Ezra 
Allenby may call it just a good busi- 
ness turn, but I call it a shady deal. We 
both happen to know that the old 
Hunter farm out near Sky Ranch is be- 
ing considered for an airport site. We 
were told in confidence and Hunter, 
himself, knows nothing about it. The 
Hunter family are having a hard time, 
financially, and are thinking of selling. 
I was hoping they'd hold on until the 
airport plans were settled — it would 
mean a good price for them. 

"Now Allenby wants me to talk the 
unsuspecting Hunter into selling to 
him, cheap. They're friends of mine 
and they would trust me, so old Ezra 
wants me to do his dirty work." 

There was distaste on Father Bar- 
bour's face. "Do you mean our host is 
expecting you to connive in cheating a 
friend of yours?" 

"Oh, don't worry, Dad, T shan't do it. 
But my accepting Allenby's hospitality 
without any caution on my part, puts 
me in an awkward position. I shall 
just have to work my way out of this, 
somehow. Don't tell the others — let 
them enjoy themselves." 

There was much that Father Bar- 
bour could have said, but the sight of 
his son's dejection stopped him. He 
glanced from that face to another one, 
a pretty one — but sadder and wiser — 
on the other side of the hearth. , 

Then he chuckled. "It would seem 
to me, Clifford, that I remember your 
making a remark to the effect that age 
brings experience and that you had 
passed the time of having to learn the 
hard way. I frankly see little differ- 
ence between your mistakes and pun- 
ishments and those of the younger 
generation. As I started to say the 
other night, age is no proof against 
mistakes." 

Then he added, hastily. "Except, of 
course, in a man of my years!" 



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Radio Mirror 
Homemaker 

(Continued from page 57) 

dish add V2 cup diced cooked potatoes. 
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Eggplant with Basic Sauce 

Basic Sauce 
2 cups eggplant, pared and 
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Indian Curry with Rice 

Basic Sauce 

1 medium apple, diced small 

2 tbls. minced raisins or currants 
1 to 2 tbls. curry powder 

1 tsp. cornstarch 

1 can chicken or beef consomme 

2 cups cooked lean meat, chopped or diced 

Prepare basic sauce as usual, adding 
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Combine curry powder and cornstarch 
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2 large onions 

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Vi tsp. ginger 
Vi tsp. mustard 
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will be offered a new and 
popular best-seller at only 
$1.39 (plus a few cents post- 
age) — savings to me of $1 to 



NAME. 



West 57th St., New York 19. N.Y. 

$2 on each book from the 
regular price of the publish- 
er's edition. (The current 
selection is "NIGHT AND THE 
CITY" — sensational $2.50 best 
seller.) However. I can accept 
or reject monthly selections as I 
please. My only agreement is 
to purchase 6 of the entire 
year's offerings. Rush my free 
copy of "Strange Fruit" and 
begin my club service with 
current selection. 



Please Print Clearly 
ADDRESS 



CITY_ 



_STATE_ 



Zone No. (if any) 
(In Canada, 266 King St. West; Toronto.) 



RM-2 



. . . and you get all these Money-Saving advantages too! 

You will be sent immediately 
FREE your copy of the best- 
seller "Strange Fruit" when you 
mail the coupon. You'll also 



become a member of The Fiction 
Book Club with your choice of 
the club's monthly best-seller 
selections and you'll get these 
four big advantages, too: 

I. You save $1 to $2 on every book! 

Fiction Book Club contracts for big 
special editions — prints from orig- 
inal plates and in return for mass 
distribution, authors accept lower 
royalties. These savings are passed 
right on to you. You save $1 to $2 
on every book you get. And you get 
the best-seller, "Strange Fruit," 
FREE as an introductory gift I 



2. You get outstanding new books! 

Selections are made only after a 
careful study of current books from 
all publishers. From these reports 
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No trick obligation clauses. You 
simply agree to accept any six of 
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in a year. You do not have to accept 
every book offered — just those you 
decide you want after you have read a 
detailed description well in advance. 



4. You'll find plan so simple and 
easy! If you decide you don't want 
the book simply notify us not to 
send it. Otherwise simply do noth- 
ing, and it will be mailed to you. 
For each monthly selection YOU 
decide you want you pay just $1.39 
plus a few cents postage. 

SO ACT NOW! 

Get your FREE copy of "Strange 
Fruit"— the book everybody's 
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But hurry— offer is limited 1 It's 
first come — first served. Mail 
coupon NOW to The Fiction 
Book Club, 31 West 57th St., 
New York 1% N. Y. 



CURRENT SELECTION' 

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According to a recent Nationwide survey: 

More Doctors smoke Camels 
than any other cigarette 



• Like the rest of us, doctors smoke for pleasure. Their taste recog- 
nises and appreciates full flavor and cool mildness just as yours does. 

And when 113,597 doctors were asked to name the cigarette they 
smoked, more doctors named Camels than any other brand. 

Three nationally known independent research organizations con- 
ducted the survey. They queried doctors in every branch of medicine. 




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No other shampoo 
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It's mid-winter magic wherever you go . . . 

your lovely, lustrous, Drene-clean hair 

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Here famous Magazine Cover Girl and Drene Girl, 

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for your winter vacation. "The first rule of hair beauty," 

advises Mickey, "is to make sure your hair 

is shining clean." Always use Drene Shampoo 

with Hair Conditioning action. No othsr shampoo 

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Shampoo with 
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GIRL: Sorry, but I've sworn off smiling. Why, 
if I smiled— 
CUPID: . . . you might get a man into the picture 
with you some time. Just fancy! Or don't you care 
for that kind of mush? 
GIRL: Look, snip, what I do is my business. Why 
don't you go attend to your own? 
CUPID: It so happens, scrap-happy, that smiles are my 
business. Men go for smiles. If you think that sour puss of 
yours will ever make a man look twice . . . 

GIRL: Well, my smile is worse than my sulk. It would 
frighten away even the photographer. No high-lights 
■ ... no glitter. I brush my teeth regularly but— 




CUPID : But your tooth brush often shows a tinge of "pink"? 
GIRL: Pink, green, blue ... we were discussing the 
rainbow, perchance? 
CUPID: Listen, sister, "pink" is a warning to see your 
dentist AT ONCE. Let him decide if it's serious 
... or just a case of soft foods robbing your gums 
of exercise. And if it's that, he may suggest "the 

helpful stimulation of Ipana and massage." 
GIRL: And then suddenly my smile starts sparkling 
out loud like the Great White Way— 





CUPID: But not in one day, dopey. For sparkling 
smiles depend largely on firm, healthy gums. 
Ipana's designed not only to clean teeth but, with 
gentle massage, to help gums. If your dentist suggests 
massage with Ipana when you brush your teeth, 
get at it . . . and you'll be on the Great Right Way 
to a smile that'll break men's hearts! 



ij/bdMfr fads 



Product of Bristol-Myers 







MARCH, 1947 



VOL. 27, NO. 4 



The pretty woman above is Young 
Widder Brown, whom you'll find 
in brilliant color in next month's 
Living Portraits, surrounded by 
the friends that years of hearing 
on the air have made your friends, 

too. 

* * * 

Special decoration for April's 
Come and Visit story are the de- 
lightful blonde bangs on Alice 
Faye's pair of very blonde daugh- 
ters. For that matter, lovely Alice 
(Mrs. Phil Harris) herself is no 
less bonde and no less decorative, 
as you'll see from the beautiful 
color portrait of her and her 
husband. 

Also a significant event in the life 
of The Second Mrs. Burton; a 
Blondie story-in-pictures; Red 
Skelton, also in pictures; all the 
best ideas we could find for Better 
Living. We never do have space 
enough to tell you all about the 
issue coming up! 



Facing The Music by Ken Alden 6 

New Records 11 

What's New From Coast To Coast by Dale Banks 12 

Rural Friend 14 

Down On The Farm 16 

Radio Mirror Commends Superman 21 

Aunt Jenny Proves That Home Is Where The Heart Is 22 

Come and Visit Fibber McGee and Molly 24 

My Boss, Tom Breneman by Dorothy Hegle 28 

"This Is Ted Malone" 32 

Between The Bookends by Ted Malone 34 

"Someone Like You" by Patti Clayton 36 

The Pride of Unadilla — Judy Canova in Pictures 38 

When A Girl Grows Up — Cover Girl Anne Francis 40 

It Takes Two by Roy Rogers 42 

Vox Pop Visits The Church We All Built by Rev J. Samuel Stephenson 44 

Life Can Be Beautiful 46 

Backstage Wife — A Picture-Story 48 

Stella Dallas — In Living Portraits 52 

For Better Living: 

Fresh From The Deep by Kate Smith 56 

Alice Frost in Wonderland 58 

Make Your Bed— as Florence Williams does 59 

From The Neck Up by Mary Jane Fulton 73 

Inside Radio — Program Guide 60 

Information Booth— Your Questions Answered 66 

Introducing: Al Paschall, Page 3; Joan Alexander, Ken Roberts, Page 4; 
Dorothy Day. Page 18; John Tillman, Page 19. 

ON THE COVER: Anne Francis, radio actress. Color Portrait by Salvatore Consentino, Valcoor Studios. 

Fred B. Sammis Doris McFerran Jack Zasorin 

Editorial Director Editor Art Director 

Evelyn L. Flore Marjorie Wallace Frances Maly 

Associate Editor Assistant Editor Associate Art Director 





•^nttaJi, 



HCM 



t 



ALFRED PASCHALL 



JUST as Ralph Edwards' Truth and 
Consequences (NBC, Saturdays, 
8:30 PM EST) started the trend in 
audience participation shows, so his 
production manager, Al Paschall, pio- 
neered the hitherto non-existent job of 
stage managing a radio program. 

Becoming a radio program's produc- 
tion manager never entered Al's head — 
until it actually happened. Born in 1917 
in Dallas, Texas, he got the acting bug 
when he was eight years old and played 
the lead in the "Pied Piper." All 
through high school, the dramatic club 
was almost more important than any 
other activity for Al and this devotion 
ended not only with his school's winning 
a state drama contest, but with Al, him- 
self, being awarded a scholarship at the 
Southwestern School of the Theater. 

Finally, in January of 1937, he made 
his New York debut! He carried a spear 
in the Maurice Evans production of 
"Richard II". Having gained that foot- 
hold, it began to be a little easier. He 
got small roles with Evans in "Henry 
IV" and in "Hamlet," and stayed with 
the company for some time in New 
York and on the road. He became 
more and more interested in the pro- 
duction end of the theater. He knew 
little about production in radio, but he 
had vision enough to see that there was 
a future in it, so he embarked on a 
brand new field — stage managing a 
radio show. 

As production manager for the show, 
Al's duties are many and varied. All 
the physical aspects of the program 
comes under his direct supervision. 

And prize-procuring, tour details, 
prop-designs, reunions — Al does those, 
too. 



RADIO MIRROR, published monthly by 
MACFADDEN PUBLICATIONS, INC., New York, N. Y. 
General Business, Editorial and Advertising Offices: 205 East 
42nd St., New York 17, N. Y. O. J. Elder, President; Harold 
Wise, Senior Vice President; S. O. Shapiro, Vice President; 
Herbert Drake, Vice President; Meyer Dworkin, Secretary and 
Treasurer; Edward P. Lethen, Advertising Director. Chicago 
Office: 221 North La Salle St., Leslie R. Gage, Mgr. Pacific 
Coast Offices: San Francisco, 420 Market Street, Hollywood, 
321 So. Beverly Dr., Lee Andrews, Manager. Reentered as 
Second Class matter March 15, 1946, at the Post Office at 
New York, N. Y., under the Act of March 3, 1879, Subscrip- 
tion rates: U. S. and Possessions, Canada and Newfoundland, 
$2.50 per year. All other countries $5.00 per year, price 
per copy: 25c in the United states and Canada. While Manu- 
scripts. Photographs and Drawings are submitted at the 
owner's risk, every effort will be made to return those found 
unavailable if accompanied by sufficient first class postage 
and explicit name and address. Contributors are especially 
advised to be sure to retain copies of their contributions; 
otherwise they are taking unnecessary risk. The contents of 
this magazine may not be reprinted either wholly or ill 
part, without permission. 

(Member of Macfadden Women's Group) 
Copyright, 1947, by Macfadden Publications, Inc. All rights 
reserved under International Copyright Convention. All rights 
reserved under Pan-American Copyright Convention. Todos 
derechos reservados segun La Convencion Panamericana de 
propiedad Literaria y Artistica. Title trademark registered 
in U. S. Patent Office. 
Printed in U. S. A. by Art Color Printing Co., Dunellen, N. J. 




Don't turn ft out, Honey- 
you'lf be back by fen i 



SURELY A BUNDLE of charm like you 
couldn't miss out tonight. Yet just when 
the fun's getting started, the dance will be 
over for you. 

It's so easy for even the prettiest girl to 
miss, when she fails to keep her charm safe 
from underarm odor. 





JMf«_».iM 



■-**■?■*><? r.tj-jK'* 



V\ 




Product of Bristol-Myers 



She should remember— a bath washes away 
past perspiration, but to guard against risk 
of future underarm odor— Mum's the popu- 
lar word. 

better because its Safe 

1. Safe for skin. No irritating crystals. 
Snow-white Mum is gende, harmless to 
skin. 

2. Safe for clothes. No harsh ingredients 
in Mum to rot or discolor fine fabrics. 

3. Safe for charm. Mum gives sure pro- 
tection against underarm odor all day or 
evening. 

Mum is economical, too. Doesn't dry out 
in the jar— stays smooth and creamy. Quick, 
easy to use— even after you're dressed. 

• • • 

For Sanitary Napkins— Mum is gentle, safe, 
dependable . . . ideal for this use, too. 




REN ROBERTS 



Wall Street or radio? Ken made the lucky choice 




REN ROBERTS enjoys his job as quizmaster on 
Quick as a Flash, heard Sundays at 5:30 PM, 
EST over the Mutual network. But the part of 
the program that really delights him more than any- 
thing else is the spot where he stops mc-ing long 
enough to say, "And now, announcer Cy Harris has a 
few words to say . . ." For to Ken, that moment is a 
complete switch on what has almost always been the 
Roberts routine. As the announcer on Take It or 
Leave It, Correction Please, Battle of the Sexes and 
some other shows, someone else was always saying, 
"And now Ken Roberts with a few words — " 

Ken Roberts was born on Washington's Birthday, 
1910, in New York City. He attended DeWitt Clinton 
High School where, incidentally, one of his closest 
schoolmates was Ned Calmer, now one of CBS's top 
newscasters. 

Early 1929 saw Ken in dire straits and badly in need 
of a job. He had heard there were many opportunities 
for enterprising young men on Wall Street, so he got 
himself a job as runner — but he left in June! 



Ken got the acting itch again and put on plays for 
the underprivileged kids at Eddie Cantor's camp at 
Surprise Lake, N. Y. That summer over, Ken hooked 
up with the Christopher Morley stock company in 
Hoboken, which was making a big thing out of re- 
viving old time melodramas. Ken wound up playing 
leads there after nine months. 

1930 saw Roberts — and a lot of depression hit 
actors stalking Broadway in search of a job. Discuss- 
ing the sorry state of affairs and discussing that was 
practically all most of them could do to fill in their 
days — one "at liberty" thespian happened to mention 
radio as a possibility. Ken decided to take a crack at 
radio announcing and began making the rounds of 
small stations, realizing that he'd need some ex- 
perience. He auditioned and landed a job with 
WLTH in Brooklyn, stayed there six months, until 
the work and the long subway ride got too tiring. He 
auditioned for CBS, competing with 35 other would- 
be announcers, and got a job. He played straight 
dramatic roles for five years. 




C^tm^d^ JOAN ALEXANDER 



Equal to any role — versatile is the word for Joan 



JtOAN ALEXANDER, lovely, brown-haired with 
deep, brown eyes, is all things to all plays. She's 
the versatile actress who plays Lynn Alexander, 
the proprietor of a music school in Lewiston on the 
Lone Journey, and has portrayed Lois Lane, the 
girl friend of Superman, for years. 

To meet her, Joan is poised, alert, interested in 
the world and what goes on in it. 

That she has this cosmopolitan air is not surprising. 
In .her young life she has been to a lot of far flung 
places in the world. When Joan was eight years old, 
her father, who owned a linen factory in Madeira, 
took her on her first trip to Europe. 

By the time Joan was through with a part of 
her schooling, she had made up her mind to become 
an actress. She studied with the fabulous Euro- 
pean actor, director and coach, Benno Schneider. And, 
as part of her training, she toured the leading cities of 
Europe, North Africa and Latin America. 

In 1938, Joan was in Vienna when Hitler's troops 
marched into that city. That was when she decided 



to return to America. She had already had a good 
view of Yugoslavia, England, France and, as she puts 
it, "I even got to Casablanca before President Roose- 
velt and Humphrey Bogart put it on the map." 

It wasn't long before she began to get some at- 
tention — and what's better — jobs here at home. She 
played in several stock companies and appeared on 
Broadway in "Jeremiah" for the Theatre Guild and 
in "Merrily We Roll Along" and "Mr. Hamlet." 

She spent a brief time in Hollywood, and then 
returned to New York and began her radio career. 
Since then, she's been busy all the time, working on 
shows like Right to Happiness, Bright Horizon. 

Besides being an accomplished actress and an ac- 
complished citizen, Joan is an expert horsewoman. 
Her other favorite sports are tennis and swimming. 
Of course, she's had to forego all of these diversions 
for awhile, because, by the time this appears in print 
she will have become a mother. She was married 
around the time we met her and she keeps her 
private and her professional life strictly separate. 



Every 




but One 



HERE IS MARY LOU dressed for another gay party. 
The nicest and best looking man in town is to 
be her escort. She expects to be the "femme fatale" 
as usual, with all sorts of men cutting in. Most of 
them find her irresistible. 

But tonight they won't find her irresistible. Tonight 
they won't be cutting in so frequently. For Mary Lou 
has overlooked something. 

Men will be quick to spot it, and jealous women 
will see to it that the bad news gets quickly whispered 
around. By next week there will be quite a bit of 
tarnish on Mary Lou's reputation as a charmer. But 
Mary Lou won't know about it. 

How About You? 

You, yourself, may not realize when you have 
halitosis (unpleasant breath). You may be free of it 
one night and guilty of it the next. And, when you are, 
your name is likely to go down on the social black-list. 

Isn't it foolish to take such a risk when Listerine 
Antiseptic offers such an easy, wholly delightful 
precaution? 

Simply rinse the mouth with Listerine Antiseptic 
and almost at once your breath becomes fresher, 
sweeter, less likely to offend. It's a "must" before 
any date where you want to be at your best. Never, 
never omit it. 

While some cases of halitosis are of systemic 
origin, most cases, say some authorities, are due to 
the bacterial fermentation of tiny food particles cling- 
ing to mouth surfaces. Listerine Antiseptic halts such 
fermentation, then overcomes the odors fermentation 
causes. 

Lambert Pharmacal Company, St. Louis, Missouri 




Before any date . . . 

LISTERINE ANTISEPTIC 

for Oral Hygiene 





S 



Whether they're French or English or American, 
that French "something" can be heard in the songs 
Jean Sablon sings, Sundays at 5:30 EST, on CBS. 

Donald O'Connor (left), wife (right) and the Fred 
Finkelhoffes (Ella Logan) celebrate — Donald is the 
new comedian on the Ginny Simms Program on CBS. 





Enoch Light plays for fellow-leaders George Olson 



♦0 



THE FRENCH TOUCH 

IF the United Nations, in their global effort to foster 
one peaceful world, should ever decide on a singing 
ambassador, Jean Sablon should be their man. With- 
out diplomatic portfolio, the romantic French baritone 
has been doing the job quite effectively. Last year found 
him singing to the movie mob in Hollywood's Ciro's, the 
international set in Brussels, Amsterdam and his own 
Paris, Canadians in Montreal, and south-of-the-border 
night clubbers in Rio de Janeiro and Mexico City. Doing 
most of his traveling by air, Jean finally made a three- 
point landing in New York, where he has comfortably 
settled down for a while. 

"It is fun singing to so many different people," he says 
in halting English, "and comforting to know all of them 
understand what I am trying to do." 



But to see and hear Sablon in the plushy, swank cafes 
from Chicago to Cairo requires an ample wallet and 
the chic clothes to go with it. 

Sablon was anxious to reach many more people. 

"Marty, get me a radio program," requested Jean to his 
zealous manager, ex-lawyer, Marty Goodman, "so all the 
people who don't go to cafes can hear me." 

And Goodman did, first a sustainer and now a sponsored 
series on CBS Saturday evenings, bankrolled by a cos- 
metics manufacturer. 

I chatted with Jean in his comfortable Waldorf Astoria 
suite as he tried to fight a cold by drinking tea. 

"This is a good life," he said. "You know, singing in 
all these very nice places I notice at the ringside tables 
society people, ambassadors, yes, even royalty. But now 




1£/^/ By REN ALDEN 





James Melton is singing 
M.C. of NBC's Harvest 
of Stars, Sundays at 2:30. 




o/ 



w7 



Margaret Whiting sings 
with Eddie Cantor, Thurs- 
days at 10:30 on NBC. 



/ 



and Shep Fields, learning the latest from Arthur Murray girls. 




J 



•0 



Record sales for Tony 
Martin's non-crooning 
records. He's on tour. 



that I am on the radio I get nice letters from young people, 
what you call bobby sockers, old ladies, and poor people 
who are sick. And you know, I like that so much better." 

Sablon came to the U. S. first in 1937, was signed for 
a lavish Broadway revue. He was snowed under. The 
other members of the cast dominated him — Abbott and 
Costello, Bobby Clark, and Carmen Miranda — with their 
explosive talents. 

He returned to Paris, disappointed but philosophical. 

"I was not ready for all of America," he recounted, "and 
my English was poor." 

Sablon was born in Paris of a theatrical family. His 
father wrote musical comedies, his sister Germaine was, 
before the war, a top-flight night club entertainer. Dur- 
ing the war she served as a leader in the underground 



movement, was wounded twice, received the Croix de 
Guerre. 

"My sister is a fine woman. When she recently returned 
to the stage in Paris, her fans were startled at how much 
more serious and mature she was as a performer. You 
know what she told them? She said, 'Of course I have 
changed. No one but a doll could remain unchanged 
through the past six years. France too has changed. She 
is a woman now, not a girl'." 

Jean got his first show-business break when an in- 
fluential Parisienne chatted with him on a train, helped 
get him a job as a chorus boy. Then Mistinguette, who at 
the age of 70 is still a ranking French star, made him her 
leading man. He also sang with Charles Boyer and 
Jean Gabin. 



STUBBORN FILM ROBS 
YOUR SKIN OF 



half its Beauty! 



You can't see or feel 
this stubborn film . . . 
and ordinary cleansing 
fails to remove it. 

BUT 
Once you try this treat- 
ment you will instantly 
see and feel the differ- 
encel 



Every woman's skin has this insidious 
enemy ... a stubborn film, which is a 
combination of your natural skin oils and 
cosmetics and dirt. Ordinary cleansing 
methods don't remove this stubborn film. 
Massage or rubbing only forces it deeper 
into the mouths of the pores. 

This stubborn film dulls the natural 
freshness and beauty of your skin . . . 
makes even young skin look older. 

Here's the safe and sure way to get rid 
of this insidious film that dulls the true 
freshness of your skin. 

See for yourself — tonight 

Tonight, smooth on Lady Esther 4-Purpose 
Face Cream . . . then wipe it off. Look at 
your cleansing tissue. See how surface dirt 
and cosmetics have been removed. But 
your skin itself is not yet free of that dull- 
ing film. 

Now comes the important part! Apply 
my unique Lady Esther cream again . . . 
and wipe it off. This second cleansing 
really rids your skin of that stubborn film 




JUST ONE TREATMENT with unique Lady- 
Esther Cream shows how much clearer, 
fresher, younger your skin can look! 

which improper methods fail to remove! 
My cream does not need to be rubbed 
in, massaged in . . . because its unique 
texture is so soft, so effective. Lady Esther 
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from any other cream or lotion! 

A Complete Beauty Treatment 

Each time you use my unique cream, it 
does four of the things your skin needs 
most for beauty. 1 ) thoroughly cleans your 
skin; 2) softens your skin; 3) helps Nature 
refine your pores; 4 ) leaves a perfect base 
for face powder. 

Difference is amazing! 

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Cocktailing with her husband Walter 
Surovy is glamorous Rise Stevens, 
new star of the CBS Family Hour. 



Like Mistinguette, Jean looks ageless. 
Admitting to 38, his jet black curly hair, 
warm smile and gleaming teeth belie 
his age. He is broad shouldered, has 
a good sized mustache and gives the 
appearance of being taller than ne 
really is. 

Sablon's singing style is definitely in 
the Parisian manner. He caresses the 
microphone like an American swooner, 
which led his press agent to tag him 
"the French Sinatra ... he appeals to 
the nylon-soxers." 

Although he sings in French, 
audiences everywhere understand Sa- 
blon. The meaning is in his voice and 
saucy eyes. 

But his English is improving. He 
can also sing and converse in Spanish 
and Portuguese. 

When CBS script writer George 
Frazier suggested some appropriate 
closing for the CBS shows, Sablon had 
an idea. "I will hum." 

"But don't you think we should do 
something with a French flavor," 
Frazier countered. 

"Bon," said Jean, "First I hum in 
French. Then I hum in English so 
everybody understand." 

Sablon's hotel suite is filled with 
pictures of his family, particularly 
those of his 70-year old mother. Dur- 
ing the occupation she was almost im- 
prisoned for aiding Allied troops. She 
got out and her singing son bought her 
a huge ranch in Brazil. 

"I have not spent much time with 
momma. Ever since I was a child I 
have been wandering. Someday soon 
I stop singing and go home to her," he 

says. 

* * * 

The girl who sang to more soldiers 
and sailors than Dinah Shore, Jo Staf- 
ford and Ginny Simms combined, is 
unemployed! Pretty Martha Wilkerson 
who, as GI Jill, was the singing voice 
on countless Armed Forces Radio 
Services programs beamed around the 
world to our fighting men, found that 
when war ended, her fame ended 
simultaneously. 

* * * 

The explosive news that Woody Her- 
man has junked his band should come 
as no • surprise to Facing The Music 
readers. (Continued on page 10) 





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(Continued from page 8) We reported a 
dance band slump months ago. 

Business has been terrible in hotels, 
ballrooms and one night stands, and 
although sponsored radio performances 
and theater engagements helped some, 
the overhead could not be reduced. 

At the same time music analysts have 
just about come to the conclusion that 
strictly swing bands have suffered in 
public favor. The crowds are apathetic 
about jump tunes, flock to the floor in 
increasing numbers only when the 
music is sweet and romantic; a chang- 
ing taste evidently brought on by the 
great number of post-war marriages 
and romances. 

* * * 

I doubt if the Sinatra critics can 
level any further charges against 
Frankie after the startling and exciting 
performances he gave in December at 
New York's Waldorf Astoria. On that 
highly-polished floor, before the tough- 
est "show-me" audiences in the land, 
the ex-Hoboken fighter came of age. 
He sang each night for 75 consecutive 
minutes and could have stayed on for- 
ever. Between the numbers Frankie 
ad libbed like a master showman, 
thoroughly at ease, sure-footed and 
sure-voiced, climaxing each per- 
formance with the difficult and exciting 
rendition of Richard Rodgers' "Solilo- 
quy" from "Carousel." 

Sinatra didn't make money at the 
Waldorf. He received $2,000, poured 
it back into extra musical accompani- 
ment. For the same work he could 
have gotten $10,000 in any theater. 
But he gained immeasurable stature 
and proved to himself his right to wear 

a star. 

* * * 

Hildegarde is sicker than is generally 
known. She has a congestion in her 
larynx and chest making it extremely 
difficult for the chanteuse to perform 
naturally or comfortably. If the situa- 
tion does not improve, the ex-Milwau- 
kee child prodigy may take a brief 

leave from the air. 

* * * 

Tony Martin has asked for and ob- 
tained his release from MGM so he 
could devote more time to his personal 
appearance tours, record-making, and 
chances for a new sponsored radio show. 




Singer Perry Como and Maestro 
Lloyd Shaffer straighten out a tangle 
for their NBC Supper Club broadcast. 



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BENNY GOODMAN: 

The Goodman musical bag of tricks 
explodes in a whopping 12-inch ver- 
sion of "Oh, Baby!" (Columbia) 

HABRY JAMES: 

Wrap-up of all-time James favorites, 
including "Ciribiribin," "One O'Clock 
Jump" and "Music Makers." (Colum- 
bia) 

VAUGHN MONBOE: 

A pleasant discing of the new hit 
"And So To Bed" paired with "You 
Can't See The Sun When You're Cry- 
in'." (Victor). For a piano grooving 
of the former tune, try Skitch Hen- 
derson's. (Capitol) 

SAMMY KAYE: 

The cleaned-up novelty "I Used To 
Work In Chicago" mated with "It's 
A Lie," both played in typical swing 
and sway fashion. (Victor) 

PEGGY LEE: 

Another swell disc by this stylist, fea- 
turing her own tune, "Everything's 
Movin' Too Fast" and "Lovin' Time." 
(Capitol) 

JOHNNY MEBCER: 

The amusing juke box click, "Huggin' 
And A Chalkin' " teamed with 
"Take Me Back To Little Rock" for a 
stand-out rhythmic special. (Capitol) 

KING COLE TBIO: 

This fine group seldom misses and 
"That's The Beginning Of The End" 
and "But She's My Buddy's Chick" 
keep up the standard. (Capitol) 

MABTHA TILTON: 

Sings the new hit, "How Are Things 
In Glocca Morra" from the musical, 
"Finian's Rainbow," plus the novelty, 
"Connecticut." (Capitol) 

WILL BBADLEY: 

Excellent dance tempos in "Sooner 
Or Later" and "Turn The Knob On 
The Left To The Right." (Signature) 

BOBBY DOYLE: 

New swoon contender shows his stuff 
on "Serenade To An Old-Fashioned 
Girl" and "I Wonder Who's Kissing 
Her Now." (Signature) 

SKINNAY ENNIS: 

Good to have the staccato-voiced 

Skinnay back on wax. Hear him sing 

"So Would I" and "Oh, But I Do." 

(Signature) 

FBANK SINATBA: 

A beautiful disc package blending 
"September Song" and the nostalgic 
"Among My Souvenirs." (Columbia) 

GOBDON MacBAE: 

Another fine baritone goes places 
with "Oh, But I Do" and "Flattery 
Will Get You Nowhere." (Musicraft) 

MILDBED BAILEY: 

The much-neglected Bockin' Chair 
Lady comes through again with a fine 
recording of "I'll Close My Eyes" and 
"Me And The Blues." (Majestic) 



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THT 




Dave Willoek, Arthur Treacher and Jack Carson 
gave Baby Doll a little help with his lines when 
the talking dog appeared on the Carson show. 




Colonel "Pappy" Boyington and National Commander 
Lloyd F. Oleson present a citation to comedian Alan 
Young for broadcasts on behalf of disabled veterans. 



NOT LONG AGO, Preston Sturges, the well known 
Hollywood director-scripter, was in New York and 
let loose a barrage against radio. He claimed that 
it was a shame that such a magnificent invention, in- 
stead of being used for education, is used for vaude- 
ville. By and large, we have a tendency to agree with 
Mr. Sturges. But let's give as much credit as is really 
due to radio execs. They do try. Whether we can agree 
that they try enough, or hard enough, or make enough 
effort to build their educational shows, is another matter. 
But they do try. At least once a day, each of the major 
networks presents some form of educational broadcast. 
Things that leap into mind are the various symphonic 
programs, the various Schools of the Air, Exploring the 
Unknown, The Doctors Talk It Over. We're inclined to 
agree with Preston Sturges, however, that considering 
the time and money that's spent on radio, not enough is 
done via this medium to spread real understanding, infor- 
mation and to encourage healthy, independent thinking. 



At sixteen, lovely Paulena Carter is a pianist 
of concert stature. She's featured on CBS'g 
Sparkle Time with Meredith Willson, Fridays. 



Here, we'd like to tip our hat to CBS for the splendid 
series they did on alcoholism — Alcohol and You. It's a 
good thing that the spotlight of honest discussion and 
factual exposure has been turned on this subject. CBS 
deserves credit for going at the thing from all angles, 



12 



_. 





By DALE BANKS 





Anita Ellis, who sang at actress Shirley Mitchell's wedding, wished 
Dr. and Mrs. Julian Frieden the very best of luck just before 
they left for New York, where they'll be living and working. 



Experienced in the ways of radio-crime 
is young Jerry Boyar, of the CBS net- 
work's Crime Photographer, Thursdays. 



scientifically, instead of being satisfied with a few sen- 
sational stories about a disease which is so widespread 
in this country. 

One of the experts who appeared on the series, 
Dr. E. M. Jellinek of Yale University, said that although 
alcohol is the source of much human misery, fundamen- 
tally, human misery is the source of alcoholism. Alco- 
holism and fighting the inroads it makes on society — 
approximately fifty million Americans drink, and of 
these about 750,000 are chronic alcoholics, more than 
two million drink too much — has become a problem for 
the whole of society, not just for reformers, prohibi- 
tionists, preachers and teachers. 

Again, hats off to CBS for presenting the question as 
it did, fully, honestly and seriously. 



We like the way Harry Elders has turned one of his 
hobbies into an educational program for his two sons. 
In his many years in radio, Harry has portrayed scores 
of prominent men and, whenever he did, he always tried 
to get his famous original's autograph on the scripts, 
or on the person's own work — -book, or whatever. From 
this start he got the idea of compiling a running history 
of his times for his kids. Now, Harry keeps scrapbooks 
of newspaper headlines and editorials, fashion and home 



pictures, magazine ads and war mementos, adding to 
them daily. When the Elders boys reach the age of 
eighteen, the collections will be turned over to them 
for quick and handy reference in any future generation 
debates on the "good old days." 



Every time we're inclined to start moaning about the 
amount of work we have to do, we stop at the first 
groan, thinking about Margaret E. Sangster's routine. 
Miss Sangster does the scripting for the My True Story 
program. Each week, she does five twenty-five minute 
periods for that program, writes one magazine story, 
five articles and two serials for a group of religious 
magazines. It all adds up to a lot of words — about 70,000 
of them, in fact. And — in addition, she manages to write 
one novel a year. 

Comes information which surprises us a little, mainly 
because it's such a far cry from his blood and thunder 
activities as Nick Carter on the Mutual series. Lon 
Clark, who plays the rough and ready Nick, has just pub- 
lished the first of several albums of original stories for 
children, including one which has been a prime favorite 
with his own two youngsters, "Buster Bags the Bandit." 



13 



RURAL 






Roy Battles checks over the farm accounts. 




Inspecting stock or running farm machinery — all in the day's work to Roy, WLW Farm Director and manager of "Everybody's Farm." 



FROM THE GROUND UP, title of his rural comment program, best 
describes the career of WLW's Farm Director, Roy Battles. 
Long, lanky, and bristling with energy, Roy Battles was born on 
a farm near Chesterland, Ohio. His working days started early in 
life. His father was afflicted with asthma, and Roy, as a boy, took 
over the duties of running the family's dairy farm. On the side, he 
even ran a trap line on the ten-mile hike between his home and the 
one-room country school house. During his junior years, he served 
as progressive leader in the 4-H Club for ten years, and today is still 
vitally interested as an adult in fostering 4-H activities and leadership. 

Graduating from Ohio State University in 1934, with a major in 
horticulture, Roy's first job was that of county agricultural agent for 
Pike County, Ohio, and later he transferred to Clermont County in the 
same position until he joined the WLW Farm Department in 1943. 

Roy is a friend of thousands of farm and rural families who listen 
to his three daily broadcasts. Chore Time is aired at 6:45 A.M.; a 
graphic prediction of weather conditions and market estimates follows 
at 7:40. Roy tours to Everybody's Farm at Mason, Ohio, at 12:40 P.M. 
six days a week. Everybody's Farm is a typical midwest farm, run 
by a tenant farmer and under the management of Battles. The farm 
is really his hobby. 

Roy's Farm Front program brings farmers and rural leaders to the 
microphone for a discussion of current rural problems at 9 A.M., EST, 
each Sunday. 

Battles is still setting headlines with his talks before rural and civic 
groups throughout the entire midwest area relating what he saw in 
Europe on a seven-week tour under UNRRA and government sanc- 
tion. Battles, who headed WLW's overseas "Famine Mission," now 
speaks to at least two groups a week and is booked months ahead, 
describing the famine-torn continent in an effort to convince Amer- 
ican farmers of the need of maintaining peace and progressive farming 
methods in the United States. 




After a hard day, stock reports on the radio. 



14 



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15 






WGN Farm Director Hal Totten (1947) gets news straight from the source. 



FROM the fields of sport to the meadows of 
farm may seem farther than a whoop and a 
holler to some folks, but to WGN's Farm Di- 
rector Hal Totten, who made the change, the tran- 
sition seems less paradoxical than beating swords 
into plowshares. Nor did the change seem strange 
to Station Manager Frank Schreiber, who felt that 
WGN's clear channel frequency facilities, which 
reach a vast general audience throughout the heart 
of the nation, could better be served by a man 
with Totten's general newspaper and radio back- 
ground than by an agricultural expert with 
specialized interests. 

Hal admits that interviewing a farmer beside 
his tractor is a far cry from chatting with Babe 
Ruth at a World Series. But there's more than the 
flutter of a shutter between the two pictures, he 
insists. Between the two is a twenty-two-year 
panorama of scenes in newspaper offices, sports 
arenas, flood-devastated countrysides, stratospheric 
flights, and fire-swept areas. Covering such stories 
develops more than a sportscaster, Hal says, and to 
prove it he now travels more than 1,500 miles a 
month through farmlands broadcasting news that 
is vital to more than one-third of the nation. 

In his first eighteen months at this assignment 
Hal recorded more than 500 interviews on almost 
as many farm subjects, attesting to the fact that 
he gets around just as much and probably meets 
a lot more folks in his new work. He doesn't think 
he'll ever go back to sports, except as a spectator. 

Hal never lost touch with his newspaper origin. 
From 1924 until 1930 he continued as re-write man, 
feature writer and columnist in addition to his 
sportscasting. He wrote on general subjects through 
the '30's, rejoined a Chicago paper editorial staff 
in 1942 and by 1945, after a spell as free-lance news 
commentator, he considered himself sufficiently 
"un-typed" as a sportscaster to launch into the 
field of radio farm service. 

Joining WGN, Totten revamped one of the oldest 
farm broadcasting services in the middlewest into 
a modern farm service with four daily and two 
weekly programs totaling nine and one-half hours 
weekly. Hal's forays into the hinterlands take him 
to universities, agricultural expositions, county 
fairs and anywhere that farmers can be found. He 
keeps a crew of technicians busy recording inter- 
views which sometimes number as high as 25 in 
a day. 




Sportscaster Hal (1924) in Babe Ruth days. 



16 








'jty^t&fc 



YOU enter smiling ... as ihe overture brings bark 
all the old enchantment. That night; and how 
close to the stars the topmost row of the 

balcony had seemed. That hush, when 
the lights lowered, and the curtain rose . . . 

wafting you into a make-believe heaven. 
Where the heroine's loves . . . tears . . . triumphs 
. . . were very personally yours! 

Plav-going is still one of your many ways of 

keeping life fascinating; fun. And strolling 
among those who come to see and be seen, 

you're poised . . . self-possessed, even at certain 
times. For naturally Kotex is your choice of 

napkins, knowing those flat tapered ends of 
Kotex prevent revealing outlines. 

You're sure, too, of extra protection, with Kotex' 
special safety center. Of heavenly softness that 
lasts, because Kotex is made to stay soft 
while vou wear it . . . just as every Kotex 
napkin is made with a deodorant locked inside to 
keep vou dainty, charming. And only Kotex 
has 3 sizes for different women, different days: 
Regular, Junior, Super Kotex. 



And so, whatever the scene, you enter smiling . . . 
always confident; always young in that eager 

love of life ... so very personally yours. 




More women choose Kotex* 

than all other sanitary napkins 



*T. M. Re ? . U. S. Pat. Off. 




<Jewelite 



All the lovely things you are to him are expressed in the shining glory of your 
hair. Keep it soft and lustrous by frequent use of a Jewelite Brush. Supreme 

creation of the brushmaker's art, Jewelite Brushes by Pro-phy-lac-tic 
have bristles of long, resilient Prolon that reach right down to your scalp 
to provide healthful stimulation, while burnishing each strand of 

hair to alluring, natural loveliness. Brushes, Combs and complete Dresser 
Sets in Jewelite are available at good brush departments. Look for 
the name Jewelite on the box. Jewelite, aristocrat of plastics, is made 
by the makers of the famous Pro-phy-lac-tic Tooth Brush. 

Pro-phy-lac-tic Brush Company, Florence, Mass. 



Jewelite Roll-Wave Brush, Comb and 
Mirror Set, available in delicate shades 
of ruby or sapphire, or in diamond- 
clear crystal. 




JEWELITE BY 



Rio-phy-lac-tic Combs for men 
and women are beautifully 
styled in Jewelite and other 
lovely plastics. Remember the 
name . . . Pro-phy-lac-tic! 



RO-PHY- LAC-TIC 




cr- ^uttaJi nana 

DOROTHY DAY 



AS FAMOUS for her fashion com- 
ments as for the top-drawer "names" 
she interviews, lovely Dorothy Day, 
the WINS-WLW glamor-gal com- 
mentator, is easily one of the top per- 
sonalities in her field. 

In between writing and conducting 
two programs a day, five days a week, 
over WINS (one of her programs is 
also piped directly to Cincinnati's 
WLW), dynamic Dorothy does fashion 
commentaries for the country's lead- 
ing designers. Recognition of her top- 
flight position in the field was further 
evidenced by her selection for the 
somewhat demanding task of conduct- 
ing a fashion show before 22,000 peo- 
ple at last year's Israel Orphan Asylum 
benefit at Madison Square Garden. 

Dorothy attends all business lunch- 
eons and women's expositions gathering 
material for her radio programs, all 
of which she herself writes. Her daily 
program over WINS from 10:00 to 
10:30 A.M., A Woman's View of What's 
New, is a well-balanced combination 
of fashion, budget menus, home-deco- 
rating and music, plus stimulating in- 
terviews with interesting celebrities 
geared to reach and interest the woman 
of today. 

Every day is Dorothy's guesting day. 
The passing parade of celebrities who 
have appeared on her programs in- 
clude such notables as Mrs. Vincent 
Astor, the well-known New Yorker; 
Mrs. Bernard Gimbel, wife of the 
philanthropist; Jerry Colonna, William 
Eythe, Catherine McLeod, Sonnia 
Darrin, of the movies; Ray Lev, one 
of the foremost women pianists in 
America; leading designers of women's 
clothes, including Tsang Tsing-Ying, 
Chinese designer; Jean Sablon, the 
Parisian singer; the Met's Helen Jep- 
son, and a host of others. 

What especially distinguishes Dor- 
othy Day from other interviewers is 
her extraordinary talent for making 
her guests feel at home, so that lis- 
teners get the full flavor of their guest's 
personality, instead of the somewhat 
stiff mutterings we all hear from time 
to time. Her many listeners regard 
Dorothy as their good friend, and wel- 
come her guests as they would her, 
sincerely, with friendly interest. 



toOjuan 



JOHN TILLMM 



f 




AT FRANK DAILEY'S Meadowbrook 
last summer, a young ex-GI named 
John Tillman earned himself the 
moniker of "Dream Scream," delight- 
edly bestowed on him by the bobby- 
soxers who found his looks and his 
emceeing irresistible. In a way, Till- 
man found this very satisfying, cer- 
tainly a change from having "Ser- 
geant!" screamed at him for three 
years. Matinee at Meadowbrook is 
still on the air, beamed for GI's still 
overseas. We ordinary citizens hear 
John as m.c. of Danny O'Neil's Sing- 
ing in the Morning (daily 9:15 A.M., 
EST, CBS) and as the smooth-voiced 
announcer of The Stradivari Orch- 
estra (Sundays, CBS, 2:30 P.M., EST). 

John was born in Clio, Alabama, dur- 
ing the first World War. He became a 
professional performer while he was 
still attending Barbour County High 
School. At the age of sixteen, he be- 
came a staff announcer and singer on 
Station WAFG in Dothan, Alabama. 
His mother accompanied him on the 
organ for his singing program. 

After he was graduated from high 
school, John took a job on Station 
WSB and. for four years combined 
radio and college. Then, one day the 
station director of WHAS in Louis- 
ville, Kentucky, got in touch with him 
and offered John a job as master of 
ceremonies and news commentator. 
John had to make a choice. It was 
just before his coveted BA degree 
became his, but John chose the job and 
put off his degree. 

His next step was the big one. While 
with WHAS, John made a few audition 
records and mailed them to CBS in 
New York. He didn't really expect 
any answer — but he got one a month 
later. Two weeks after that, John was 
working for CBS in New York — where 
he stayed for the next four years until 
he got his "Greetings" from Uncle Sam. 

Back from the Army less than a year, 
John now is announcer of the daily 
"Winner Take All" (CBS, 3:30 P.M., 
EST) and "Time to Remember" (CBS, 
10:45 A.M., EST) programs, as well 
many another. 

Now, John is working at having his 
cake and eating it, too. He's back in 
double harness. He goes to NYU at 
night to get that BA degree. 



it 






to 



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for jour 



m 




It took months of warm summer sunshine to bring this dish of prunes to 
your breakfast table. Months pf summer sunshine that packed them full 
of wholesome goodness . . . made them rich in sweet prune flavor. 

For these are Sunsweet Prunes! 

They were not picked like other fruit, but were allowed to hang in the 
sunshine until so plump and heavy with juicy goodness they dropped 
from the trees of their own weight. 

Prunes like these make a great start for a grand day ... a regular day 
... for prunes really DO something for you. 

Sunsweets are "Tenderized" for quick-cooking and better eating, sealed 
in foil for perfect protection, packed and guaranteed by the growers them- 
selves. For free illustrated Recipe Book, address Sunsweet, Box U, San 
Jose 5, California. 



SUNSWEET tenderized PRUNES 

Also "Tenderized" PEACHES and APRICOTS 
and SUNSWEET (the original) PRUNE JUICE 

Packed by CALIFORNIA PRUNE AND APRICOT GROWERS ASSN. 
Sai^ose^alifornia 




A OmnK/tM.«fafa>7Mf(MM 





it g' ves 






the Jfe in a 



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o«/<"" 



/jo«« 



JUDY GARLAND 

in Metro-Go/dwyn-Moyer's 
Technicolor Musical 

"TILL THE CLOUDS ROLL BY" 



CARPENTER 



Bring new glamour into your life today. Add a delightful 

new loveliness to your natural beauty with "Pan- Cake" 
... in just a few seconds. "Pan- Cake" will bring you many 

lovelier tomorrows, too. It safeguards your skin 
against sun and wind that bring drying, aging signs to mar 

your beauty. "Pan-Cake" was originated by Max Factor 

Hollywood for the stars of the screen. Now it is the favored 

fashion of millions. Try "Pan-Cake" for a glamorous 

today — for a lovelier tomorrow. 




An Exclusive Formula Protected by U.S. Patent Nos. 2034697-2101843 



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OR/6/A/ATEV BY 




/tfat jGiefct * T&&^4>i/&t?i?C 



Radio M 



IRROR COMMENDS- 




1H the dimmest recesses of our childhood lie the habits we formed then — habits 
which, whether we realize it or not, have decided for us whom we like or do 
not like, as adults. 

As unreasoning as our taste for fresh peaches or our aversion to broccoli is 
our judgment of the fellow men with whom we share the world. Intolerance is 
a big word, vaguely understood at best "He is a Catholic," we say, or "He is a 
Jew," and they are statements' we make easily, without a struggle for the actual 
meaning of them. 

If we adults cannot successfully strike our prejudices, long ingrained, from 
our lives, we can at least help our children to grow up with a natural love of 
those different from themselves. In this world with its ever-broadening horizons, 
there are a number of things that We may use as implements to aid us in teaching 
our children; not the least of these is radio. And foremost among radio programs 
which can thus serve us is Superman. 

This sort of thing is going on in homes all over the country, every day — in your 
house, too: Johnny tugs his chair closer to the radio. Superman is about to 
transport him on a magic adventure. He listens with rapt attention, oblivious to 
your dinner preparations. And as he clings to the swirling cloak of his champion 
he hears and feels a children's story that is teaching him, as no book or classroom 
can, a lesson in tolerance, in understanding that another boy's color or way of 
speech or ancestry has nothing to do with whether he is a friend, a good person, 
someone little Johnny wants to play with. 

For Superman has been dedicated to the teaching of the brotherhood of man. 
A radio program, designed only for thrilling young listeners, has become an 
important pulpit. 

Some months ago the sponsors of this broadcast announced their intention of 
making Superman a champion who would fight against the evils of our ignorance 
and prejudice. In these months we have seen that a children's program can teach 
by entertaining. And for that real contribution to a better youth in our homes, 
to a finer adult future for our Johnnies and our Janies, Radio Mirror extends a 
heartfelt commendation to Superman and to the people behind him. 



ytt iLi^A 



21 



Wanda's baby turned out to be a 
girl, and whom do you think she 
and Nicknamed that baby after? 










w235 




i 



i 



"^, — -i i- 








To a just-married girl and boy, a home is something more than walls and a roof 



I'VE always said that no matter how bad I needed the 
money, I wouldn't take in roomers. There's something 

about having a stranger living in your house, some- 
body that's no kin, that spoils the house for me — or 
anyway, that's what I always thought until the day Nick 
and Wanda Farrell stopped while I was weeding the 
front canna-bed and asked for a drink of water. 

The water was for Wanda, and after one look at her 
I took her by the arm and led her up to the front porch. 
It was a blistering hot. day, and she was just about beat 
out. She was only a little thing, with great big black 
eyes swimming in a white face and soft baby-fine hair 
clustering in damp curls over her forehead. She'd have 
been pretty if she hadn't been so thin and tired. And 
of course I saw right away that she was going to have a 
baby before very much longer. 

"Drink it slow, now," I told her when I'd brought the 
water, and then I poured another glass and handed it to 
her husband. He was a good-looking boy — neither of 
them could have been more than twenty-three or so — 
dressed in a brown gabardine suit that had cost a fair 
amount of money. The girl's clothes were good, too, so 
I figured they weren't poor. But something was wrong, 



because you never did see two more discouraged- looking 
young people. 

"New in Littleton?" I asked the boy. 

He nodded, his eyes anxiously on the girl, who was 
lying back in the porch swing with her eyes closed. "We 
don't really live here," he said. "Anyway, not yet." His 
lips twisted into a wry smile. "Looks like not ever. I've 
got a job in Metropole, and we're looking for a house or 
an apartment or — or anything at all. Right now we've 
got a room in the Metropole Hotel, but we'll have to 
give it up day after tomorrow. After that — " He broke 
off, and shrugged hopelessly. 

"There's a house for sale over on Carlton Road," I 
said, and he nodded. 

"And what they want for it! I just don't make that 
kind of money," he said wearily. 

I knew what he was up against. I'd seen them in 
Littleton for the past year and a half — young folks 
looking desperately for a spot they could call home. 
There were some barracks over on the edge of town, but 
they were full. If you didn't have the money for a down- 
payment on a house that cost twice what it had in 
normal times, you were bound (Continued on page 71) 



Listen to Aunt Jenny's Real Life Stories every Monday through Friday at 12:15 P.M. EST, on CBS. 



23 



Marian and Jim Jordan in private life, bnt Fibber 
McGee and Molly on NBC Tuesdays, 9:30 P. M., EST. 




Top-soil, pins rain, equals mud. And it did rain! 




This housekeeping requires skill — Marian has it. 




'.j": ifRntS* 







THIS story about Jim and Marian Jordan — Fibber McGee 
and Molly, as if you didn't know — will be surprising 
,only to those people who don't know them very well, 
and that would exclude, of course, the forty-odd million 
Americans who visit them in Wistful Vista every Tuesday 
night. 

But it is worth telling, surprising or not, because it is 
loaded with hope and good cheer for everyone who is 
struggling with the housing crisis. And who isn't? H. C, 
for Housing Crisis, is becoming as meaningful to most of 



24 




They wait, in a trailer, while their 

new home is being built. Sometimes 'taint 

funny, McGee, but more often it is! 





Evening paper on the front stoop — no room inside. 





us these days as H. C. L., for High Cost of Living, became 
for the average American after the first World War, what 
with half a million veterans and their families living in 
"temporary housing," (Quonset huts, to you) and with 
chintz curtains burgeoning at the windows of every aban- 
doned bus and railroad car in the country. 

H. C. caught up with the Jordans last July — since then 
they have been living in a trailer. 

It's a super-duper, modern, deluxe trailer, chrome and 
steel on the outside, its pine-paneled interior divided into 



three rooms — living room, bedroom, and kitchen, and 
equipped with all the newest gadgets. But it's still a trailer, 
and it lacks a few of the conveniences which most of us 
have grown to consider essential — little items like hot 
water and indoor plumbing. 

"It's no palace," as Jim puts it, carefully scraping the 
mud off his shoes before crossing the threshold into the 
immaculate 6% by 20 foot interior, "but we call it home." 

The remarkable part of the story is that Marian's six- 
month tussle with a bottle-gas range and electric grill has 



25 



Marian and Jim Jordan in private life, bot Fibber 
McCee and Molly on NBC Tuesdays, 9:30 P. M. EST. 




Top-noil, plus ruin, enuuls mud. Anil it iliil roin! 




•St 




They wait, in a trailer, while their 

new home is being bnilt. Sometimes 'taint 

funny, McGee, but more often it is! 




Evening paper on the from (loop- no room inside. 



Mr(<KK aw i jM0li,Y 



This housekeeping requires skill - Marian has it. 



24 



fllHIS story about Jim and Marian Jordan— Fibber McGee 
1 and Molly, as if you didn't know— will be surprising 

only to those people who don't know them very well, 
and that would exclude, of course, the forty-odd million 
Americans who visit them in Wistful Vista every Tuesday 
night 

But it is worth telling, surprising or not, because it >s 
loaded with hope and good cheer for everyone who » 
su-ugghng with the housing crisis. And who isn't? H. **j 
for Housing Crisis, is becoming as meaningful to most oi 



us these days as H. C. L., for High Cost of Living, became 
•u. u average American after the first World War, what 
^>th half a million veterans and their families living in 
temporary housing," (Quonset huts, to you) and with 
T" n ^ furtains burgeoning at the windows of every aban- 
doned bus and railroad car in the country. 

« L. caught up with the Jordans last July— since then 
»** have been living in a trailer. 
" s a super-duper, modern, deluxe trailer, chrome and 
1 on ihe outside, its pine-paneled interior divided into 



three room* — living room, bedroom, and kitchen, and 
equipped with all the newest gadgets. But it's still a trailer, 
and it lacks a few of the conveniences which most of us 
have grown to consider essential — little items like hot 
water and indoor plumbing. 

"It's no palace," as Jim puts it, carefully scraping the 
mud off his shoes before crossing the threshold into the 
immaculate 6% by 20 foot interior, "but we call it home." 

The remarkable part of the story is that Marian's six- 
month tussle with a bottle-gas range and electric grill has 



25 



3TO 



Come and Visit FIBBER McGEE and MOLLY 



only increased her reputation as the best cook west of 
the Rockies, and that Jim's disposition has emerged 
unimpaired after months of shaving with pre-heated 
water before a mirror which comes to about the level 
of his ribs, and sleeping in a bed with beveled edges 
(daytimes it's a sofa) which lands him in the middle 
of every other happy dream smack on the "living room" 
floor. 

To forestall any cracks on the part of the cynics, it 
would be best at the outset to answer one or two 
obvious questions. The Jordans did, of course, have 
a house — a big, comfortable, homey house in the 
swankiest section of Encino, which is in the swankiest 
section of the San Fernando valley. But they sold it. 
Maybe a little too soon. The Jordans could, of course, 
have afforded to sit out any housing crisis in a good 
hotel when the going really got tough. They could 
have, but they didn't. 

The truth is that nobody — neither unfriendly land- 
lord nor unsympathetic banker — forced the Jordans to 
set-up housekeeping in an auto trailer. The project 
started out in the vacation spirit, rather as an adven- 
ture — when Jim and Marian decided to buy, and 



remodel, a five-room bungalow on a beautiful hilltop 
acreage in the wooded highlands back of Encino, and 
to "camp out" on the property during the alterations, 
which their architect and builder estimated would take 
a couple of months at the most. (Two pleasant months 
at the peak of the rainless California summer.) 

July and August were not bad. The Jordans are 
campers at heart, and are accustomed to spending 
their summers in fairly primitive surroundings at their 
cattle ranch in Woody, California, where Jim hauls 
wood for the iron range, and Marian does all the 
cooking. Two months in a trailer can be fun. 

But by September, Marian recalls, the primitive life 
was beginning to pall. She had run out of menus which 
can be put together without a broiler or oven-control, 
and was improvising like crazy. 

Came October and November, and the California 
rains ... 

"Rains, my eye," Jim tells it, "they were cloudbursts." 

"Then, believe you me, it was rugged." 

They ran out on their project only once. That was 
when two inches of rainfall (California had its rainiest 
November in twenty years) (Continued on page 80) 




"We call it home," Jim says, and they have made it one 
just by living there, though it is four walls on wheels. 




It's a bending, twisting, leaning life, and 



26 





They've acquired the living-outdoors habit. "We may move over the blue 
and yellow canopy from the trailer," Jim says, "so as to feel at home." 




A man can dream, can't he? And Jim does, by the hour, of all the 
comforts and modern conveniences that the new house is going to have. 



it's making the Jordans supple. 



27 



Come an 



d Visit FIBBER McGEE and MOLLY 



only increased her reputation as the best cook west of 
the Rockies, and that Jim's disposition has emerged 
Smeared after months of shaving with Prf-heated 
water before a mirror which comes to about the level 
of his ribs, and sleeping in a bed with beveled edges 
(daytimes it's a sofa) which lands him in the middle 
of every other happy dream smack on the ' living room 

floor. . ., . ., 

To forestall any cracks on the part of the cymes, it 
would be best at the outset to answer one or two 
obvious questions. The Jordans did, of course, have 
a house— a big, comfortable, homey house m the 
swankiest section of Encino, which is in the swankiest 
section of the San Fernando valley. But they sold it. 
Maybe a little too soon. The Jordans could, of course, 
have afforded to sit out any housing crisis in a good 
hotel when the going really got tough. They could 
have, but they didn't. 

The truth is that nobody— neither unfriendly land- 
lord nor unsympathetic banker— forced the Jordans to 
set-up housekeeping in an auto trailer. The project 
started out in the vacation spirit, rather as an adven- 
ture — when Jim and Marian decided to buy, and 



"We call it home," Jim says, and they have made it one 
jnst by living there, though it is four walls on wheels. 



„,i»l a five-room bungalow on a beautiful hilltop 
acreage in the wooded highlands back of Encino, and 
Z T'VamD out" on the property during the alterations, 
which their architect and builder estimated would take 
TrouDle of months at the most. (Two pleasant months 
at the peak of the rainless California summer.) 

July and August were not bad. The Jordans are 
campers at heart, and are accustomed to spending 
their summers in fairly primitive surroundings at their 
catde ranch in Woody, California, where Jim hauls 
wood for the iron range, and Marian does all the 
cooking. Two months in a trailer can be fun. 

But by September, Marian recalls, the primitive life 
was beginning to pall. She had run out of menus which 
can be put together without a broiler or oven-control, 
and was improvising like crazy. 

Came October and November, and the California 

rains . . . 

"Rains, my eye," Jim tells it, "they were cloudbursts." 

"Then, believe you me, it was rugged." 

They ran out on their project only once. That was 
when two inches of rainfall (California had its rainiest 
November in twenty years) {Continued on page 80) 




26 




A man can dream, can't he? And Jim does, by the hour, of all the 
comforts and modem conveniences that the new house is going to have. 



It's a bending, twisting, leaning 



5E3? 



nam 




28 




of the man who comes to Breakfast in Hollywood each day » y " V K U 1 ii I H L li L £ 





Rare scene, for Tom usually works a 
night shift, Dorothy in the daytime. 



Ladles with Hats wait half-fearfully, half- 
hopefully, for Tom's unsparing criticisms. 



FOR six years the host of Breakfast in Hollywood has been 
sending orchids to good, good neighbors all over the 

country. Day in and day out, some citizen in Kalamazoo, 
Kokomo, or Brooklyn answers the front door bell and 
receives a fragile lavender bloom epitomizing her recogni- 
tion as a doer of good deeds. 

Now the bloom is on the other foot. And I am most grate- 
ful to Radio Mirror for this opportunity of writing my own 
nomination for the same for an office "neighbor" of mine. 

Many orchids to my boss, Tom Breneman. A genial gen- 
tleman with a booming laugh who inspires longevity in the 
nation's womanhood. Who spotlights the average American 
housewife before the microphones. And who spreads the 
news about all the good neighbors . . . the happiness they 




Home is where favorite sport- 
casts can be heard in peace. 



29 




Hobbies? Poking up fires, for one — Tom loves them. 
Definitely not hats; he owns only one. But Doro- 
thy, when she has to wear a hat, does her best to 
get one that's worthy of a Breneman associate. 



make for others . . . the lifts they give their fellow- 
man. 

Because of my boss, many elderly people throughout 
the country are feeling their years a lot less and laugh- 
ing a lot more. He has glamorized age, kids it instead 
of pitying it, and makes it a living thing. Life begins at 
seventy since Breakfast in Hollywood. 

We've had several guests on the show who were 
100 years old, and one or two who were 105. The boss 
interviews all of the elderly ladies, laughs with them, 
gives them a swift kiss along with a "God Bless You, 
Honey," and pins their orchid on. They leave the 
restaurant stepping faster, looking perky and proud. 

IT took my boss to break feminine precedent by in- 
spiring women to tell how old they are. Some of 
them even bring birth certificates to the broadcasts 
to prove it. 

He breaks another one by bringing out so many 
loyal ladies at that hour. And if you ask me, he earns 
an orchid of his own for service far beyond the call of 
any normal radio duties ... in braving that bonnet 
barrage peeking in and out of the palm trees of 
Breneman's restaurant at him so early in the morning. 

The breakfast tickets, at $1.25 each, the price of the 
morning meal, are sold out at least two weeks before 
every show. And by seven o'clock every morning there 
are long lines of cheerful people extending from the 
restaurant on down Vine Street to Sunset Boulevard. 
Most of them have been up since five o'clock that 



10M BREJVEVfAJV 




Tom Breneman's Breakfast In Hollywood is beard 
Monday through Friday at 11:00 A.M. EST. on ABC. 



morning. They hail from Oklahoma, Nebraska, Minne- 
sota ... all over. And many will tell you readily that 
they've come to Hollywood mostly "just to see Tom." 

Some are couples there to celebrate their twenty- 
fifth or fiftieth wedding anniversaries. There are many 
young people. And it may surprise you to know there 
are a great many men, whom my boss always greets 
sympathetically with a "Hello, Suckers!" when he sees 
them in the audience surrounded by all the extreme 
chapeaux. 

Speaking as a mere secretary ... little did I ever 
dream the day would come when I would be entirely 
oblivious to orchids. But I can take them or leave 



30 



K 




In the white-gabled house in Encino live Gloria, .who sings, "Brennie", the Gene Krapa of the future, and Mr. and Mrs. B 



them now, I've gotten a little hat-happy too. There 
are many nights when I count hats instead of sheep 
. . . hats with ribbons, feathers, vegetables, and fields 
of orchids blooming out of them. Hats . . . hats . . . 
hats . . . enough to make you lose your head. And 
wish sometimes that all the other women in the world 
would lose theirs also. 

But I still wouldn't trade my job for any other, and 
I take all of the hats off to my boss. 

THERE'S never a dull moment in the suite of offices 
Breakfast in Hollywood occupies high above Holly- 
wood Boulevard. Aided by a staff of ten persons, in- 
cluding his manager, John Masterson, my boss not 
only coneerns himself with doing five thirty-minute 
radio shows weekly, but he's also in the restaurant 
business, puts out record albums of the shows, pro- 
duces movies, and is now going into the millinery busi- 
ness too. Officially, that is. There are now "Tom 
Breneman" hats sold in hundreds of leading stores 
throughout the country, with twelve new models a 
month fashioned by leading Hollywood designers. 

In addition to all of which the boss sponsors mock 
Breakfast in Hollywood parties put on by lodges and 
various groups throughout the country, with the local 
minister or some civic official impersonating Tom. He 
sends out forty or fifty "Tom Breneman Party Kits" 
daily, with all the props for the parties. An orchid, a 
joke book, song sheets, a mammoth cigar, a three-foot- 



long comb, etc. Proceeds go to some local charity in 
the towns. The boss has never solicited such parties, 
but he's glad the spirit of Breakfast in Hollywood has 
caught on, and that good can be accomplished through 
them. 

He's helped to focus the hat-tention of the world on 
Hollywood. And many of the thousand fan letters he 
receives each day often just have a sketch of a hat 
and "Hollywood, Calif." on them. 

Most of his mail consists of informal letters from 
people who feel they're writing to an old friend. Some 
are from shut-ins who say how much his laugh and 
cheerful personality means to them. Some are the 
"Dear Mr. Anthony" kind. From an elderly woman 
who wants him to put her in touch with two gentlemen 
he's mentioned on the air; a little boy who wants the 
boss to help him get a husband for his mother . . . "one 
who has a Cadillac and can get me into the movies"; 
or a young man who wants him to write his girl and 
help patch up a quarrel between them. 

They send hundreds of gifts to him too. Hams, 
bacons, even pounds of butter, crochet work of all 
kinds, and thousands of hats. During a national hat 
contest he held we got 75,000 hats, made out of pine 
needles, newspapers, sea shells, or any left-overs in 
the ice box. One morning he made an appeal for 
towels for servicemen at the Hollywood Guild Can- 
teen . . . and the office soon began to look like a 
Turkish bath. When the fuzz (Continued on page 64) 



^31 




THE program had just gone off the 
air. As the studio audience filed 

out, a woman detached herself 
from the crowd and went to stand 
outside the stage door. She was a 
plain little woman, middle-aged, 
with nothing remarkable about her 
except an air of brightness and pur- 
pose. Then the door opened, and the 
roundish, blue- eyed man who had 
been guest star on the program came 
out. She approached him breath- 
lessly. 

"Are you Ted Malone?" she asked. 

The man nodded. 

"Mr. Malone — " she spoke hur- 
riedly, as if she were afraid that he 
might somehow disappear before she 
had had her say, " — I just wanted 
to thank you for what you've done 
for my family and me. The war had 
so cut my husband's income and 
raised living costs so that it was a 
problem, just keeping the children 
decently clothed and in school. 
There was never any money for new 
clothes for ourselves, or for enter- 
tainment, and the house was so 
shabby that it just wasn't a pleasant 
place to live in. And then one day 
when I was especially despondent, 
you read a poem — and it changed 
my whole outlook. I got right up 
! and tore down the curtains that I'd 
mended and hated for years, and 
ordered new ones. I bought new 
drapes, new slip covers for the living 
room furniture, new clothes for my 
husband and myself. And, Mr. Ma- 
lone, you'd be surprised what a dif- 



The Ted Malone' Program is heard each 






-Tl 



•fip 




TED MALONE 



19 









fr 



v/v 



ttf 






4 



£ 



ference it makes. We went into debt 
to do it — but we're enjoying our 
home again. We're enjoying our- 
selves." 

Recalling the incident, Ted grins 
and admits, "I didn't ask her what 
the poem was. I was afraid I 
wouldn't remember it." 

He had reason. In^fifteen years of 
conducting the Between the Book- 
ends program on the air, and in 
running the page of the same name 
in Radio Mirror, Ted has read a 
small mountain of poetry. And this 
was not the first time that he had 
been told that he had, unknowingly, 
touched a deciding finger to some- 
one else's fate. His mail is full of 
just such confidences. More than 
anything else, Ted appreciates meet- 
ing these people he has talked to 
from behind a microphone, and 
hearing the story firsthand. 

There was the more spectacular 
case of the girl who sat alone in a 
furnished room one afternoon, think- 
ing very seriously of suicide. Every- 
thing had gone wrong for her lately. 
She was alone in the world; no one 
wanted her or needed her; life 
seemed not worth the effort it would 
take to put things right. Then a 
voice broke into the silence — a voice 
almost irritatingly cheery to her 
despondent ears, and challenging. 
"Well!" it exclaimed, "what's the 
matter with you?" 

She started. She had not known 
that the radio was on. She rose, was 
about to turn it off, when the voice 



Monday, Wednesday and Friday, 11:45 A.M., EST, 



went on persuasively, "Come now — 
nothing can be that bad. Just stop 
and think a moment — " 

"I stopped and thought," said the 
girl, meeting Ted years later in Lon- 
don. "I had to. It was like hearing 
the voice of fate itself — or of my own 
conscience. And when I thought it 
over, I realized that there was noth- 
ing really wrong, except that I'd let 
the blues get the best of me. I 
promised myself that it would be 
the last time." 

Ted didn't have to ask her if she'd 
kept her word. She was a WAC 
officer, serving her country with 
brilliance and distinction. In civilian 
life she had become a successful 
writer-photographer for one of the 
country's leading magazines. 

He doesn't look prepossessing, this 
man with the magic voice. He is of 
medium height, rather stocky, with 
a retreating hairline and a Puckish 
expression about the eyes and mouth. 
For all that, he is a graceful man; 
he moves as he thinks, with resili- 
ence and vigor. It is impossible to 
be with him without catching some 
of his own effervescence of spirit. 
But it is his voice first of all that 
holds you and to which you respond; 
it has the subtle shading, and the 
effectiveness, of a fine instrument. 

He has been making use of his 
voice professionally for nearly twenty 
years, ever since his high school days 
in Independence, Missouri. "Inde- 
pendence," Ted explains, "is ten 
miles east of Kansas City. At least, 



that's how we used to describe it. 
Now we identify it by assuming that 
it's President Truman's home town. 
I had a bad habit of talking too 
much even then, and when a student 
was wanted to announce the school 
basketball games over KMBC, the 
local station, I was elected. My 
career as a bona fide radio artist 
actually began in the boys' shower 
at school, after a gym period. Neville 
Cool, another student, and I were 
harmonizing a tune popular at that 
time, 'Side By Side.' When we'd run 
through a couple of choruses, we 
looked at each other and said, 'Say! 
that's not bad! We ought to go on 
the air.' And we did." 

Radio was an informal business in 
those days. The small stations, espe- 
cially, operated on a catch-as-catch- 
can basis, and performers worked 
for the love of it, and, often, for very 
little else. If you wanted to go on 
the air there were no tiresome pre- 
liminaries such as filling out forms, 
personnel interviews, and Waiting to 
be called for an audition; you simply 
asked for the chance and got it. If 
you were good, you stayed. Neville 
was already singing at KMBC; when 
he went to make his next broadcast, 
he took Ted with him. They were 
good, and they stayed. 

Shortly after graduation Neville 
was killed in a motorcycle accident, 
and Ted temporarily lost his taste 
for singing. Then Gomer Cool, 
Neville's younger brother, came to 
him and said (Continued on page 99) 



A' 



»« 

'?:• 



■over ABC stations. 



33 




^—^ „. -t the Month 



R o<KoM.rror».- f> 

• nA vaulted from *<f>£^ det of boof; 
Tbe tall wind ^ uchtning and tbun° 
^ d gan °S?aTot 5^ -^^el-shapedlbroat 
It juggled a log down lts f unne ^^i 

^dpouredaj^ hena tagn h t 

Little House, crouch ^ a ^wnrf fi ^ 

Litt le House, s»t^ when * ^f^., 
The taU wind *" e &ddle on tetepbow • 

Tnd Playff^^ed when * ^ *w a plane 
It wantonly scr d whe n 

U screeched W» ^ 

drown. u w hen a ms» ra j 

Litt le House, hrfe -^ ^a^^ Fis her 
Little House, P™»y — Lenore »> 



Rioting appropriately 
through this month's best 
poem, the winds of March 
are tempered in these 
other verses that Ted 
Malone has selected 



Prithee, w h * ,op ^ 
Prithee, w»V ri l eon I v#«» 

•. tot shoin«l tW* w " 
»«|hers.H»h«* 



S*» 



sT o»^ 



..Oh,heaoesn-t^ 0ndmer 

» \us» Keep » 

lA compl««» ,oma 

A^* at !*!rdtooweW 
*ho's «**«*£ ^ 



?o lo^ »** *X m |et wi* *"* *b. bidden. 
Hereafter ^^bebV*°» "^l bear*. 

We*" ^e^slble. do not ne^^ 






DUTl 




SW***^' 



it is a thin a^, 8 *^. frantic sea 
Bo t take i» ootseWes, » j_fed 



Hmnmn 



out dust, 




MQNDA* 




M k0 „d«y*«»'» ,t,m, * 0,0W 

, have W** «« ""^^ K . Beod— 





. „ : n the dress 
A. s«eet *•* ™ _»ntoiii>ess: 




. _ _,:U«oo 



And . dooc •» s oeare , 



. *. .ith *e riva 

***■*, "{ Heaven m« 
T he w^^fTeet emotion; 

With a «*g w0 dd to . sU ?g C 
Nothing » *L * law divine 
^Vthin^^andnnngle. 

in one •P** 1 ^* thine?— 
1 W hy^ tIW1 Heaven 

u mountains tass h^n^^. 

wo sister-no«ef ^ btoth er; 
^xf^of^ssnotme^^^uev 



^d from tny 

aiele£t 'nd With the dole 




By TED HA10NE 

Be sore to listen to Ted 
Malone's morning program, 
Monday, Wednesday, Friday 
at 11:45 EST, over ABC. 







' ..aver low« 
.. •. as pu nd0<l1 



RADIO MIRROR will pay 
FIFTY DOLLARS each month 

for the original poem, sent in by a reader, selected 
by Ted Malone as the best of that month's poems. 
Five dollars will be paid for each other original 
poem submitted and printed on the Between the 
Bookends page in Radio Mirror. Address your 
poetry to Ted Malone, Radio Mirror, 205 East 
42nd Street, New York 17, N. Y. This is not a 
contest, but an offer to purchase poetry for publi- 
cation in Radio Mirror. 



fcftiii*^. 





Patti and Ace share everything — long 
hours of work, pride in each other. 



Jfmfob /owe $fow/ vemtt 



I WAS frightened. I was scared a shocking pink. 
I was on my way to CBS to rehearse with Arthur 

Godfrey for the singing spot on his morning 
show. I knew this was — well, I knew that this was 
it. The Big Chance for the Big Time. Opportunity 
with a capital "O" knocking at my door. 

When I was in high school in Detroit, where I 
was born, two other girls and I formed a singing 
trio. We called ourselves The Three Graces and 
made our "professional" debut in Chicago. I'd done 
some vocalizing on one or two popular air shows, 
too, and in the Balinese Room of Chicago's Black- 
stone Hotel. And millions of housewives heard me 
admonishing them, daily, against putting their ba- 
nanas in the re-freeg-er-a-tor (as Chiquita Banana) . 
But this did not help me to establish my identity as 
a radio personality since I was, actually, nothing 
but a "ghost" for Chiquita. I'd had one or two other 
spots, too, none of them spotlighted. . . 

Now, Arthur Godfrey ... a network . . . coast to 
coast . . . not as one of The Three Graces, not as 
Senorita Banana ... as me, myself, Patti Clayton I 

You wonder I had the screaming meemies, the 




mil ^{/icJi/t&H—Unanm fa Si/te 



Waitin' For Clayton is heard Saturdays at 7 
P.M.; Bouquet For You (roses, if your request 
is sung) is at 5:30 Mondays, Wednesdays and 
Fridays — both programs on the CBS network. 



By PATTI CLAYTON 




shakes, the elevator swooping around inside me? 

When I arrived at CBS my heart was beating a 
tattoo you could positively hear but my speaking 
voice was a whisper you couldn't. 

I didn't expect I'd get much help, and was sure 
I'd get no sympathy at all from the boys who were 
staging the rehearsal. Lots of fellows in radio 
business are kind of frightening, kind of sharp, hep 
... I thought, Let one of them needle me and my 
voice will freeze in my throat like one of those 
bananas you put, against Chiquita's advice, in the 
re-freeg-er-at-or. . . . 

Then as I stood there, hesitating, at the door, I 
saw him. 

The first thing I noticed about him was his eyes. 
I thought, His eyes look awfully serene, or some- 
thing. 

The second thing I noticed about him was that 
he was thin, so awfully thin, and such a pretty 
shade of green. 

Then he came over to me. The first words he 
spoke to me were, "Don't be scared, this is not an 
audition, you know — you are already hired." 



I'd known, of course, that Arthur Godfrey had 
auditioned dozens of singers, none of them in per- 
son, but by listening to their recordings. I'd known, 
of course, that my recording was the one Arthur 
Godfrey had chosen and that I was, as the dark 
young stranger who, somehow, wasn't a stranger to 
me, had said, "hired." Still, Mr. Godfrey could 
change his mind. He could easily change his mind, 
especially if he heard a voice like from a Zombie. 

" — already hired," the young man with the calm 
voice that matched his calm eyes, was saying. "Did 
you know," he added, "that Mr. Godfrey picked 
your recording out of three or four dozen others; 
that immediately he heard you sing he said, 'That's 
it. That's the first really fresh and natural voice 
I've heard in weeks of hearing voices.' " 

I remember thinking, How can he know the ex- 
actly right things to say to me? 

But he can, and he did, and he still does. Where 
I make a mountain out of something smaller than 
a mole-hill or have a problem that is all ravels 
and loose ends, he reduces the mountain to size and 
has such a clean-cut way (Continued on page 82) 



37 







To succeed in society, a girl must know something about 
good musieV Judy knows every note of the Coouskin Caper. 




l2 





The girl from Cactus Junction says her pieci 
to cast members Hal Gerard, and Joe Ke 



And if she can perform herself, she's in! Mel Blanc helps 
Judy work up an artistic little production. Well . . .a production. 



The Judy Canova Show goes on the air each Saturday 
night at 10:60 P.M. EST on NBC network stations. 



38 






Judy Canova, fresh from the 



hills, leads the rest of her cast a mad, 



merry chase, Saturdays on NBC 



JUDY CANOVA, fresh from Cactus Junction and Skunk 
Holler and the hillbilly country, is trying to break into 
society. It's tough, uphill goin' — even for a mountain gal 
like Judy, and even with the help and advice of her respec- 
table Aunt Aggie. As Aunt Aggie reminds Judy, when they 
are scanning the field of eligible, socialite bachelors for Judy 
to marry: "After all, you do have a face that men could go 
for." Judy agrees. That's what men call her — gopher-face. 

So it goes, every Saturday over the National Broadcasting 
Company wires when Judy entertains the nation, aided and 
abetted — and sometimes double-crossed — by Geranium, the 
maid (played by Ruby Dandridge) ; Pedro, the chauffeur, and 
Roscoe Wortle (both played by Mel Blanc), Benchley Bots- 
ford, the Count, and the elderly mailman (all played by Joe 
Kearns); Brenda (played by Sharon Douglas); Aunt Aggie 
(played by Ruth Perrott) 




39 





What "fatigues"' are to a soldier, and a white coat to a dentist, 
are Anne's dungarees and shirts to her — her working uniform. 



SEVERAL months ago, sixteen-year-old Anne Francis van- 
ished from New York, from the airways — and particularly 
from the NBC radio show When a Girl Marries. She'd 
gone to Hollywood to act in pictures, full-time. And her 
Hollywood life turned out to be exactly what every sixteen- 
year-old American girl dreams. 

Take her second day in movieland — after a first day in 
which she and her mother ate a celebration breakfast at 
the famous Brown Derby restaurant and got settled in hotel 
rooms. Her second day, she was invited out to Metro- 
Goldwyn-Mayer Studios to lunch with Mildred Kelly in 
the publicity department. Dressed in her favorite blue 
dress, and wearing her good luck pin, Anne arrived breath- 
less at Miss Kelly's desk. But Miss Kelly wasn't sitting 
behind it. Anne stared at the person who was behind it, 
and gasped out his name. 

"Van Johnson!" she said, astounded and overwhelmed. 

He had, of course, been her dream of perfection for years. 
The Dream looked up, grinned at her, and said, "Hello." 
The desk was piled high with letters and packages. Van 




D 



^/ AL 



Covering Cover Girl Anne Francis, who has a 
lol of exciting memories — and more to come 




Among the things that mean home to Anne, East or West, 
are her mother's chocolate cakes and her cocker Stnbbs. 




A joint letter-writing project got the 
Francises something that everyone says 
can't be had — a Hollywood apartment! 



Not much time in a busy young actress's 
life for reading just for fun. Anne 
gets it in by doubling it up with 
other activities — like milk-drinking. 



% 



always reads his fan mail himself, however huge it is. 

Anne was too weak to remain standing. She sat hastily 
in the nearest chair, told him her name — and from then on 
for the next forty -five minutes they talked. Mostly about 
radio. Van told her how hard he'd tried to crash radio 
without success in his early days. Miss Kelly came in and 
asked Anne if she'd like Van's autographed picture. She 
said she certainly would, and she got it, to» — you can gaze 
at it over her bureau any time you're nearby. It says, "To 
Anne Francis. Good luck always from your .friend Van." 

"What's more," Anne says now, "he's just as wonderful as 
I knew he'd be, and he's never forgotten to say hello when 
we meet on the lot. The next time I saw him you might 
say it was a typically Hollywood meeting ... he came off a 
set wearing a bathrobe, and he was with June Allyson, in 
a nightgown. But he said, 'Hello, Anne,' and I said, 'Hello, 
Van,' and I decided I was really in Hollywood, for sure!" 

So far Anne has been in two movies — one such a flash 
part that she thinks it's hardly worth mentioning: a brief 
scene with Jimmy Durante in {Continued on page 68) 









"Women," said Gabby, "got to be 
smart in the heart, not the head." 



If Roy had believed the old saying about opposites, he could 



By ROY ROGERS 



A LOT of the old sayings are just something 
to say, and nothing more, it seems to me. 
But opposites do attract — that's one of the old 
sayings that's as true as I'm standing here talking 
to you. It would take a whole lot more philo- 
sophical fellow than me to explain why it is, 
but it's true, for certain. You've noticed it your- 
self, dozens of times — and, though I never did 
believe, it before, I do now! Like when the fel- 
low that all the girls chase after because he's so 
downright handsome picks out a girl who's quiet 
and plain. Fat girls get the thin fellows, and the 
tubby men get the girls who haven't any more 
weight than they need. Small, delicate girls al- 
ways seem to bring home the tallest, biggest- 
shouldered men, and vice versa; dynamic, lively 
men marry serene, placid ladies, vivacious ladies 
marry -silent, strong types. There's no doubt 
about it, and there seems to be not much reason 



in it, but I've watched, and it happens. 

That's the way it goes — and it isn't always just 
physical differences that attract people to each 
other, either. You'd think, for instance, that a 
fellow like Slim Grayson would've run a mile 
from that lady dude who came to the Double-R 
Bar for her health last fall. And by the same 
token, you'd think she wouldn't have been able 
to see him for dust. But — well, let me tell you 
about it from the start, and see what you think. 

The start was our fault, come to think of it — 
Dale Evans' and Gabby's and mine. The Eastern 
girl — Celia Dunn was her name — was a buyer 
at a big department store, and she'd had a 
nervous breakdown. I guess she must have been 
pretty important to the store, because they paid 
all the bills when she was sent to my ranch for a 
vacation and to get her health back. 

"I get the heemie- (Continued on page 104) 



As the days went by, Celia did grow calmer. Pat Buttram, Dale and I put that down to Slim's influence. 





"Love's been working out 

for centuries!" I reminded Dale. 

(Roy Rogers, with Dale Evans, 

Gabby Hayes, Pat Butlram, is on 

NBC Saturdays at 9 P.M. EST.) 



never have brought Slim and Celia together 




VOX POP VISITS 



. *■-■• • , * ■■<;■>■ 





To Warren's question about plans. Reverend Stephen- 
son said, "We want a plain, country church, the doors 
always open so people can just .step right in." 



(Vox Pop, with Parks Johnson and Warren Hull, is 
heard Tuesday nights at 9 P.M., EST, over CBS.) 



It wasn't just those of the parish — Vox 



VOX POP is helping us build our new church, St. Peter's 
on the Canal at Buzzards Bay, Massachusetts. You 
probably heard the November 26 Vox Pop broadcast 
from here. As the Protestant Episcopal rector of St. Peter's 
for the last two years, the thing I've wanted most has 
been to build a new church and to move out of the build- 
ing we now rent. When I heard Warren Hull say at the 
beginning of that broadcast, "All the gifts are for the new 
church Reverend Stephenson hopes to build," I saw my 
dreams come true. In my mind's eye I saw that church 
as though it were already standing: the doors were 
open wide and the bell was ringing for the morning 
service. It hit me, as my friend Johnny Bananas whom 
you heard on that broadcast,- would say, "in a vitamin 
spot." After the broadcast I said to my wife, "Vox Pop 
did the nicest thing they could have done for me or for 
the community." 



44 




By Reverend 

t. SAMUEL STEPHENSON 




I've always loved kids, wanted to help them. After all, 
my wife and I have three of onr own — Nancy, the eldest; 
then comes Helen, and the little guy is named Johnny. 



Pop invited people of all creeds to be on the program, for St. Peter's belongs to the whole town 



Our present church was once a barn. Before it became 
our church it was known as Red Men's Hall. The Red 
Men's Society, a fraternal organization, had bought the 
barn and converted it into a meeting hall for their own 
use. When the mission was started twelve years ago, it 
was the only building available so they rented it and we 
still rent it. 

I wish you could see the interior. (Maybe some of you 
who read this have seen it.) Our altar rail is made of 
unpainted two-by-four planks. The lecturn is attached 
to and sticks up from the altar rail at the left of the altar. 
It's a two-by-four plank with a piece of plywood slanted 
on the top. The altar itself is made of unpainted plywood. 
We have no organ. There is a piano in the corner at the 
right of the altar. The walls of the building are so thin 
that they sway in a strong wind. 

No matter how we decorate it or how we clean it, it's 



still Red Men's Hall. And clean it we do! Last winter 
the oil burner broke three times and threw great blasts 
of oily smoke all over the place. It was bitterly cold in 
there but the good ladies of the Mission wrapped their 
heads in dust cloths, put on old clothes and went to work. 
Pretty soon it was spic and span again. And it wasn't 
only the ladies of our parish — ladies from all over town 
came to help so that we could have our Sunday services. 
I got so discouraged that I even tried to get the War 
Surplus Administration to declare one of the chapels at 
Camp Edwards surplus so we could get that. The camp 
is empty now and there are fifteen chapels. I wrote a 
lot of letters and got no response. One day, after writing 
the fifteenth letter, I sat down and wrote to the Presi- 
dent. In four days I had four letters. Nothing has hap- 
pened yet, but one of those lovely white chapels might 
just be the answer to our prayers. (Continued on page 93) 



45 



VOX POP VISITS 




To Warren's question about plana. Reverend Stephen- 
son said, "We want a plain, country church, the doors 
always open so people ran just .step right in." 



(Vox Pop, with Parks Johnson and Warren Hull, is 
heard Tuesday nights at 9 P.M., EST, over CBS.) 



By Reverend 



J. SAMUEL STEPHENSON 



44 



It wasn't just those of the parish — Vox 

VOX POP is helping us build our new church, St. Peter's 
on the Canal at Buzzards Bay, Massachusetts. You 
probably heard the November 26 Vox Pop broadcast 
from here. As the Protestant Episcopal rector of St. Pete s 
for the last two years, the thing I've wanted most ha 
been to build a new church and to move out of the bui - 
ing we now rent. When I heard Warren Hull say at tn 
beginning of that broadcast, "All the gifts are for the ne 
church Reverend Stephenson hopes to build," I saw ™^ 
dreams come true. In my mind's eye I saw that ch " 
as though it were already standing: the doors w 
open wide and the bell was ringing for the morn b 
service. It hit me, as my friend Johnny Bananas wn 
you heard on that broadcast, would say, "in * Pop 
spot" After the broadcast I said to my wife, vox ^ 
did the nicest thing they could have done for me 
the community." 



Pop invited people of all creeds to be on the program, for St. Peter', belongs to the „l 



II 



Our present church was once a barn. Before it became 
our church it was known as Red Men's Hall. The Red 
Mens Society, a fraternal organization, had bought the 
barn and converted it into a meeting hall for their own 
use. When the mission was started twelve years ago, it 
was the only building available so they rented it and we 
still rent it 

I wish you could see the interior. (Maybe some of you 
who read this have seen it.) Our altar rail is made of 
unpamted two-by-four planks. The tectum is attached 
to and sticks up from the altar rail at the left of the altar, 
ts a two-by-four plank with a piece of plywood slanted 
°" the top. The altar itself is made of unpainted plywood, 
r-k* ^ n ° organ - There " a Diano ™ ihe corner at the 
th ♦ u the altar - The walls of ihe budding are so thin 
mat they sway in a strong wind. 
w o matter how we decorate it or how we clean it, it's 







still Red Men's Hall. And clean it we do! Last winter 
the oil burner broke three times and threw great blasts 
of oily smoke all over the place. It was bitterly cold in 
there but the good ladies of the Mission wrapped their 
heads in dust cloths, put on old clothes and went to work. 
Pretty soon it was spic and span again. And it wasn't 
only the ladies of our parish— ladies from all over town 
came to help so that we could have our Sunday services. 
I got so discouraged that I even tried to get the War 
Surplus Administration to declare one of the chapels at 
Camp Edwards surplus' so we could get that. The camp 
is empty now and there are fifteen chapels. I wrote a 
lot of letters and got no response. One day, after writing 
the fifteenth letter, I sat down and wrote to the Presi- 
dent In four days I had four tetters. Nothing has hap- 
pened yet but one of those lovely white chapels might 
just be the answer to our prayers. (Continued on page 93) 



45 



This month's best letter tells 



of a little old lady who kindled 



a light that will never be dimmed 





THIS story of Joe, a simple sort 
of fellow with simple ambitions 
which became all-consuming once 
it seemed impossible to fulfill 
them, is one of the most human 
documents Life Can Be Beautiful 
has ever received. To the writer 
goes this month's Radio Mirror 
check for one hundred dollars. 



*'I Want to Die, Mom" 

Dear Papa David: 

During the war, I .was a nurse 
at a large Navy Hospital on the 
coast. We had many cases of boys 
who were made blind and crip- 
pled by the war. I want to 
tell you a story of one of these 
boys. 

His name was Joe and he had 
been wounded on the S.C. 539 in 
1942. He was a negro boy from 
the South and he had told all the 
fellows before he went into ser- 
vice that some day he was going 
to be a better fighter than Joe 
Louis. He used to have us tune 
in all the fights on Saturday 
nights and he would sit for hours 
listening to them. 

But Joe would never be a 
fighter because some Jap gunner 
had wounded him so that, he 
would never see again and had 
shot his arms up so badly that we 






CAN BE BEAUTIFUL 



had to amputate both of them. 

We tried to interest him in 
different things but he always 
seemed to close a door within 
himself. He never complained but 
sometimes on night duty I could 
hear muffled sobs coming from his 
end of the ward. 

Families of these boys are not 
usually brought in until the boys 
can manage their hew arms well 
enough so that they won't be em- 
barrassed but we thought in Joe's 
case that if some of his people 
were there they could help him, 
so we contacted his local Red 
Cross Unit and arranged to have 
his mother come. 

She arrived one cold November 
day, a small, wrinkled old lady, 
and walked down the long ward 
full of sailors. She touched her 
son's forehead and said softly, 
"I'm here, son." 

He cried out in a hoarse, an- 
guished voice, "I want to die, 
Mom. I can't see you. I haven't 
even any arms to hold you with." 

He slumped down in bed and 
clumsily raised his hands to his 
head. Not being able to use his 
new arms well, one swung around 
and hit his mother. The room 
was silent, everyone tense, wait- 
ing. . . . His mother picked up 
one of the metal hands and said, 
"Son, listen to me. You've got 



arms here that Joe Louis himself 
couldn't break. You know, you 
never could have given your old 
Ma a pop with the other ones, 
but shell have to duck now. I'm 
proud of them, son. I hope you 
will be, too." 

The boy's face slowly began 
to smile and the entire room 
was filled with a silent enchant- 
ment. 

The little old lady walked slow- 
ly over to me, looked up and said, 
"Don't you worry, nurse, it's all 
okay now." She had kindled a 
light in a bleak hospital ward 
that for me would never grow 
dim. 

Miss J. L. 

The Shared Spirit 

Dear Papa David: 

I was an army pilot stationed 
in China during the last war. The 
first and only impression I ever 
had of the Chinese was of a poor 
down-trodden people who were^ 
quiet, cheerful, yet resolute as 
they faced the hardships of life 
and the tragic privations of war. 
The American Army observed 
them in different ways. Some of 
the boys seemed to hate them, 
others teased and tormented them 
all they could and some like my- 
self felt sympathetic and wished 



to help them, however we could. 

Christmas always means a lot 
to an American, but over there 
we didn't have much chance to 
observe it like we do here at 
home. There was very little ex- 
changing of gifts among the men, 
and outside of the chapel service, 
and maybe a dance, there was 
very little to distinguish it from 
any other day of the year. The 
Japs knew we loved Christmas 
and tried to bomb us worse than 
ever then if they could. Even a 
frequent air raid alert was an- 
noying. 

My first Christmas over there 
we gave what few gifts We had to 
spare,- also some money, to the 
American Missionaries stationed 
nearby. But even that didn't sat- 
isfy me. I wanted to share my 
Christmas spirit with the Chinese 
some way if I could. One eve- 
ning when the subject of Christ- 
mas was mentioned I suggested 
to some of the boys in my bar- 
racks that we plan something 
unique. "Let's make some of the 
Chinese kids happy, Christmas 
Day," I suggested. 

"Not these little cigarette beg- 
ging devils around here, I hope," 
my friend Thomas insisted. 

"No, I'd like to collect a bundle 
of all the things we can rake up 
and spare, (Continued on page 85) 



RADIO MIRROR OFFERS ONE HUNDRED DOLLARS EACH 
MONTH FOR YOUR LIFE CAN RE BEAUTIFUL LETTERS 

For the Life Can Be Beautiful letter Papa David considers best each month, Radio Mirror will 
pay one hundred dollars. For each of the other letters received which we have space to 
print, Radio Mirror will pay fifteen dollars. Address your letters to Papa David, care of 
Radio Mirror, 205 East 42 St., New York 17. No letters can be returned. 




^ 



i by Carl Bixby and Don Becker, life Can Be Beautiful i» beard every Monday through 
Friday at 12 noon, PST; ltfle PJH., MST; 2 rOO P.M.. CST; and 3t00 P.M., EST. over NBC. 






1. Entering their house at Rosehaven one night, Larry and Mary Noble are 
astonished to find two elderly strangers comfortably waiting for them. 
"We're your Aunt Mercy and Uncle Cosmo Kimball from Parkridge," 
they gaily tell Mary, who hasn't seen the Kimballs since her childhood. 




A Radio Mirror picture-story in 
which danger visits the Noble home 
with two harmless-looking old people 



THE home of Mary Noble, Backstage Wife, 
the career and future of her actor hus- 
band Larry, the peace of mind of their 
good friend Maude Marlowe, who lives with 
them — all are threatened by a pair of stran- 
gers who pay them an unexpected visit one 
night. In these pictures, as on the air, Mary 
Noble is played by Claire Niesen; Larry, by 
James Meighan; Tom Bryson by Chuck 
Webster; George Ansell by Daniel Ocko; 
Maude Marlowe by Ethel Wilson; Cosmo by 
Rod Hendrickson; Mercy by Charme Allen. 







2. Larry and Mary have to invite the Kim- 
balls to stay, because they couldn't get 
a hotel room. Later, the Nobles agree 
that the visit is unwelcome, but, after 
all, the old folks are Mary's relatives. 



3. But, as some days go by, unwelcome becomes a mild word. Cosmo and 
Mercy have taken over the household. They even interfere with Larry's at- 
tempts to discipline young Larry. The Nobles are furious, but courtesy for- 
bids a reprimand to their guests. They can only hope to speed the parting. 



1 48 







/ 





&1* 



■ 









4. Things become worse, as Mercy displays dis- 
satisfaction with Maude Marlowe's cooking. "We 
do it differently in Parkridge," she says, and 
Mary almost asks why she doesn't go back there-. 



5. Uncle Cosmo adds his bit by falling asleep with his cigar 
alight, setting a bed on fire. Unperturbed, Mercy says he's 
done this twenty times in the last thirty years, but privately 
she decides- that if he's not careful the truth will out . . . 




6. And the truth is bad. The Kimballs are in reality 
crooked old actors. Wanted back home for swindling, 
they have found out about Mary's real relatives and 
are hiding out at the Nobles'. They decide the time 
has come to get what they can from Larry, and go. 




7. Meeting away from the house, Mary, Tom Bryson (Larry's 
manager) and Maude agree that the Kimballs can no longer 
be borne. So when Cosmo approaches Larry with a promising- 
sounding Florida land deal, they all welcome the idea, sure 
that the Kimballs will leave as soon as they get the money. 



Backstage Wife, heard Monday through Friday at 4:00 P.M. EST, on NBC network stations, was conceived and is produced by Frank and Anne Hummert 



50 




8. Backstage in Larry's dressing-room that night, the Kimballs tell him 
that if he will add $25,000 to their $75,000, they will all make millions. 
Unsuspicious, anxious to be rid of them, Larry says, "I haven't that much 
myself, but I'll borrow from my play's backer, George Ansell." He does. . . . 




9. And three weeks later Ansell and 
Tom Bryson are frantically trying to trace 
the Kimballs, who have indeed gone — 
with all the money, and without a word! 




10. "Ill pay back every penny," Larry vows, know- 
ing that it will leave him bankrupt and ruined by 
bad publicity. If only the swindlers can be found ! 
Trying hard, the Nobles recall small bits of con- 
versation . . . something about a log cabin in Jersey. 




11. And the vague clue leads to the Kimball cabin, from which 
the culprits are brought to the Judge's chambers to confess! 
Dangerous publicity has been avoided, and the money returned, 
so the Judge grants Larry's plea that the old pair be leniently 
treated. And the 'Nobles will have guests by invitation only! 



51 



IN LIVING PORTRAITS 




The story of the courageous, self-sacrificing love of a mother 




STELLA DALLAS (Anne Elstner), refusing to burden her daughter Laurel, supports herself by running a Sewing Shop. 



52 




*& 



TMul 



k, 




• 



%it 



*3S*- 



W 



J£iS» 



LAUREL (Vivian Smolen), Stella's daughter, ia wealthy Dick Grosvenor's wife, and mother of little Stella Louise. 



■!»■■*■■■»■■■■■ 




. 



DICK GROSVENOR, Laurel's husband, and his socially prominent mother, represent a kind of life very different from that in which 

Laurel was raised by Stella. But Dick, loving Laurel, is understanding. It is his mother who dominates and makes demands on Laurel 

and Stella Louise, and finally forces a situation that leads to Laurel's leaving the Grosvenor home, and going to Stella. 

(Dick Grosvenor played by Spencer Bentley, Mrs. Grosvenor by Jane Houston) 



54 




DR. ALAN SIMMS, anx- 
ious to help extricate Stella 
and Laurel from a dangerous 
situation, is hampered by 
his promise to keep Laur- 
el's secret — that she is go- 
ing to have another child. 
(John Brewster) 



These- episodes in the life of 
Stella Dallas are based on the 
famous novel of that name by 
Olive Higgina Prouty, and are 
written by Anne Hummer I, 
Stella Dallas is heard Monday 
through Friday from 4:15-4:30 
P.M., EST, on NBC. 



MINNIE GRADY, sharp of 
wit and tongue, is intense- 
ly loyal to her friend Stel- 
la, and much more bitter 
against the people she calls 
"them Grosvenors" than 
Stella allows herself to be. 
(Grace Valentine) 





BOB JAMES, who owes his law degree to Stella's help, has be- 
come a dangerous force in her life. Because of his impulsive bold- 
ness, Stella and Laurel must live through hours of anguish, 
(played by Warren Bryan) 



PHILIP EAXTER, whose 
generosity has made Stella's 
shop possible, keeps hoping 
that one day she will come 
to care for him as more 
than her dear friend, 
(played by William Smith) 





Fish, in any of its forms, makes a more-lhan-acceptable mainstay for Lenten menu planners. Halibut, broiled 
and accompanied by stuffed potatoes and tomatoes that have done their turn under the broiler, graces any table 



56 




Ik 
•k 



I • 

M 



m f 



m » m 



I NEVER get over being surprised by the 
fact that every month when I have finished 
writing the cooking section I find my- 
self with an idea for the one that is to fol- 
low. Perhaps that is because I have come 
to feel that writing it is just like writing a 
letter to a friend — and you know how that 
sometimes works out. You save up some 
gossip or an interesting story to share with 
a friend and as soon as you get the letter 
written you think of something else you 
might have included. In much that same way 
I file away bits of information for you and as 
soon as I get them on paper I think of some- 
thing else I want to tell you. For instance, 
last month I realized that many of the recipes 
could be used for a meatless Lenten menu, 
which made me decide almost immediately, 
to follow it with some suggestions for cook- 
ing fish, which you can use not only during 
Lent but the year round. For that is one of 
the wonderful things about fish — whatever 
the season you can be sure of finding a 
delicious assortment in the markets, particu- 
larly now that so many types of frozen fish 
are available. 

No matter what type of fish you buy or 
how you plan to cook it, be sure that it is 
absolutely fresh, which is indicated, in a 
whole fish, by firm elastic flesh and bright 
eyes. To maintain freshness after you get it 
home, keep it in the refrigerator until you 
are ready to prepare it, then let it reach room 
temperature before cooking. 

Broiled Halibut Steak 

1 lb. halibut steak 

2 tbls. melted shortening 
Salt and pepper to taste 
Have steak cut into two half-inch portions. 

Preheat broiler to 550 degrees F, place steaks 



on broiler rack and brush with melted short- 
ening. Broil, 2 inches below flame, for 3 
minutes. Season with salt and pepper, turn, 
brush again with melted shortening and re- 
turn to broiler for 5 minutes more and season 
second side with salt and pepper. Butter, 
margarine or oil may be used in place of 
shortening if desired. Good accompaniments 
for halibut steak are baked stuffed potatoes 
and broiled tomato halves. ■ 

Sauteed Scallops 

2 lbs. scallops 

1 cup milk 

Soft bread crumbs 

2 tbls. shortening 

Wash scallops in salted water, then drain 
thoroughly. Dip into milk, then roll in 
crumbs. Melt shortening in skillet and when 
it is hot (but not smoking) add scallops. 
Cook for 3 minutes, turning frequently, until 
golden brown. Season after cooking with 
salt and pepper to taste and serve with tartar 
sauce. 

For fish fillets (Continued on page 92) 



By 

KATE SMITH 

RADIO MIRROR 
FOOD COUNSELOR 



Listen Monday through Friday at noon when 
Kate Smith Speaks, and Sunday nights at 6:30 
EST, when Kate Smith Sings — on CBS network. 







RADIO MIRROR for BETTER LIVING 



R 

M 

57 




A lover of "Alice" develops her favorite book into a unique decorating theme 




Artist Luis Van Rooten started it all with 
his gift of the Wonderland woodcut 
map (right) for the study. Then came a 
pig-baby to be '"beaten when he sneezed." 



HEN anyone in New York gets a new apartment 
these days it is a matter for rejoicing and when Alice 
Frost, the fascinating Pam of Mr. and Mrs. North, and 
her advertising executive husband Willson Tuttle suc- 
ceeded in renting a larger apartment recently, they felt, 
and rightly, that they were among the luckiest people in 
the world. It was just what they wanted— there was 
even an extra room which could be made into the study 
they needed so badly because Alice's fan club activities 
and the work her husband brings home from the office 
had long since outgrown their living room desk. 

Of course, greater space necessitated a complete 
decorating job and the purchase of additional furniture, 
and since the Tuttles look forward to the day when. they 
can have a home in the country every new suggestion 
was considered both from the standpoint of its suitability 
for the East River apartment and for its eventual use in 
the country. Most people would have said that the two 
ideas could not be combined, but Alice, with the fine 
logic which characterizes her Pam North performance 
said, first, "Why not?" and then "Of course they can." 
Whereupon she proceeded to work out her two-way 
plan, and in doing so created one of the most attractive 
and livable homes you could find in many a day's search. 

The living room, which is entered through a small 
foyer, is a large one with floor-to-ceiling windows and 
a fireplace. Walls and woodwork, both in the living 
room and the foyer, are the dark green of leaves on a 
cloudy day, the ceiling, mantel and the louvred window 
shutters chalk white. Color makes the narrow hall an in- 
tegral part of the living room. 

It was in the study, however, that Alice put her 
most original ideas into effect. Combination cupboards 
and bookcases of natural birch line the walls. A large 
comfortable armchair and a wide daybed melt into 
the cinnamon rose walls, all of them uniting to form 
the perfect setting for Alice's cherished Alice in Won- 
derland collection. 



R 
M 

58 



Radio actress Madelaine Pierce, another 
friend, carried on the theme with more 
"Alice" props: a pair of miniature (rab- 
bit-size) white gloves, two tiny fans. 




p*?Hte^)t 






as Florence Williams does, a joy to look at, luxury to sleep in 



IT isn't always a bigger and better contract that brings 
radio stars their greatest satisfaction. Frequently it 
is something entirely different — and something that 
might bring ' pleasure to any one of us. For instance, 
when Florence Williams (Sally Farrell on NBC's Front 
Page Farrell) wandered in looking as pleased as the 
cat that has gotten away with both the cream and the 
canary, it was a little startling to discover not that she 
had been signed by six new sponsors but that she had 
bought some sheets. 

Since Florence understands quality, whether it is in 
a radio script or an old fan (she collects fans and has 
some beauties) it seemed a good idea to ask her for 
suggestions. We couldn't have asked a better-informed 
person. When Florence was a little girl living in St. 
Louis, long before the acting bug bit her, she used to 
go to visit her grandmother in Louisiana every winter. 
Her grandmother had been brought up on one plan- 
tation and had spent her married life on another one. 

"Grandmother was really a remarkable person," 
Florence said. "One of those capable people who are 
adviser, friend, doctor and teacher for everyone around. 
When she was young, people couldn't shop as easily as 
they can now, but had to keep supplies of all kinds on 
hand, so of course she always had a supply closet. It 
seemed to have everything in the world in it. I remem- 
ber very clearly the stacks of sheets and pillow cases 
in the supply closet, and how she always insisted on 
buying only the best quality." 

The factor that determined quality in her grand- 
mother's day, Florence explained, still determines it to- 
day, and that is the thread count, which is the total 
number of lengthwise or warp threads and crosswise 
threads in a square inch. 

Size is almost as important as quality in insuring satis- 
factory service, for a sheet that is too small or too large 
will wear out more quickly than one of the proper size, 
which proper size you can easily deter- 
mine by taking the measurements of 
your beds and comparing the measure- 
ments with those in the chart below. 
The dimensions used here are in inches 
and refer to the torn size (the best 
sheets are torn, rather than cut, to 
make certain that the edges will stay 
straight after laundering) . 

As to the quantity you require, you 
will probably find that you cannot get 
along with less than 4 sheets for each 
bed and 2 cases for each pillow, and 
that you will not need more than 8 
sheets per bed or 4 cases per pillow. 

Almost as essential as buying your 
linens is taking care of them after you 
get them. Soaking in cool water 
will help loosen dirt, but confine the 
soaking to a quarter or half an hour. 
Wash in very hot water, use enough 
mild soap to make a rich, lasting suds, 
rinse in equally hot water, then give 
. a final bluing rinse in cool water. 
And remember that nothing is quite so 
good for your bedlinens — or makes 
them smell and feel so good — as drying 
them outdoors in the sunshine. 




To miter: lift side 
edge, tuck hang under. 



Bring side edge down, 
ruck under tightly. 




Finished corner must 
be taut, triangular. 



Miter blankets 
for a well-made 



too, 
bed. 



PILLOW SIZE 

20x28 
22x28 
24x28 
26x28 

SHEET CHART 

Crib 

Cot or daybed 
' Single 
Twin 

Three.q Uarter 
Double 



C ASE SIZE 

title IIT^*^ 

45x36 45x38% or 45x40U 

5 °x36, 50x38^ or w TJ, 

54 *36, 54x38V t Xm 

' ™ xS Wz or 54x40% 

SHEET SIZE 

45 *7S or 50x75 
54x99 or 54x108 
63x99 or 63x108 
72x99 or 72x108 
72x99 or -72x108 
81*108 or 90x108 



. N <>te: When rh„ • ° r ^^ 



11 A D I O M IRROR to 



R 
M 

60 



IIVSIDE RADIO 



All Times Below Are EASTEKFN STANDARD TIMES 
For Correct CENTRAL STANDARD TIME. Subtract One Hour 



S UN D AY 



A.M. 


NBC 660k 


MBS 710k 


ABC 770k 


CBS 880k 


8:30 
8:45 






Earl Wild 


Caroline Calling 


9:00 
9:15 
9:30 
9:40 


Story to Order 
Words and Music 


People's Church 
Tone Tapestries 


Whits Rabbit Line 


Renfro Valley Folks 
Johnson Family 


10:00 
10:15 
10:30 
10:45 


Bible Highlights 
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Radio Bible Class 
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Message of Israel 
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11:00 
11:15 

11:30 

War 

tfn. 


Design For Listening 

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AFTERNOON .PROGRAMS 



12:00 

12:15 
12:30 

12:45 


World Front News 
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Pilgrim Hour 
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String Orchestra 


Invitation to ^earn- 
ing <- 


1:00 
1:15 
1:30 
1:45 


America United 
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People's Platform 
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2:00 
2:15 
2:30 
2:45 


Robert Merrill, 

Frank Black 

James Melton 


Married For Life 

Bill Cunningham 
Veterans' Information 


Warriors of Peace 
National Vespers 




3:00 
3:15 
3:30 
3:45 


Carmen Cavallaro 
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Open House 

Crimes of Careless- 
ness 


Dr. Danfield 

From Hollywood 
Samuel Pettingill 


N. Y. Philharmonic 


4:00 
4:15 
4:30 
4:45 


The Quiz Kids 
Grand Marquee 


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Are These Our 

Children 
Green Hornet 


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5:00 
5:15 

5:30 
5:45 


NBC Symphony 


The Shadow 
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David Harding 


The Family Hour 
Hoagy Carmichael 



EVENING PROGRAMS 



6:00 


The Catholic Hour 


Those Websters 


Sunday Evening 


Ozzie and Harriet 


6:15 






Party 




6:30 
6:45 


Bob Burns 


Nick Carter 


Willie Piper 


Kate Smith Sings 


7:00 


Jack Benny 


Mysterious Traveler 


Drew Pearson 


Gene Autry 


7:15 






Don Gardiner 




7:30 


Fitch Bandwagon 


California Melodies 


Stump the Authors 


Blondie 


7:45 










8:00 


Edgar Bergen 


A. L. Alexander 


Detroit Symphony 


Sam Spade 


8:15 






Orch, 




8:30 


Fred Allen 


Special Investigator 




Crime Doctor 


8:45 




George C. Putnam 






9:00 


Manhattan Merry- 


Exploring the 


Walter Winchell 


Hildegarde 


9:15 


Go- Round 


Unknown 


Louella Parsons 




9:30 


American Album 


Double or Nothing 


Jimmie Fidler 


Eddie Bracken 


9:45 






Policewoman 




10:00 


Don Ameche 


Gabriel Heatter 


Theatre Guild 


Take It Or Leave It 


10:15 










10:30 


Meet Me at Parky's 


Latin American 




We the People 


10:45 




Serenade 






11:00 


News 










— began singing eighteen yearn 
ago—the year she learned to talk 
— and made her radio debut at 
the age of four. 





charming Boston Blackie, each 
Tuesday night at 7:30 over 
ABC. His wife is Dorothy Kil- 
gallen, columnist, and Breakfast 
with Dorothy and Dick is a 
morning treat for those within the range of Mutu- 
al'- WOR. The day when Blackie has breakfast 
with the Kollmar family and Dorothy uses one 
of her multitudinous contacts to get Blackie out 
of trouble should be an epic one for Dick. 




M N D A Y 


A.M. 


NBC 660k 


MBS 710k 


A8C 770k 


CBS Sijk 


8:30 
8:45 










9:00 
9:15 
9:30 
9:45 


Honeymoon in New 
York 


Editor's Diary 
Shady Valley Folks 


Breakfast Club 


CBS Morning News 
Oklahoma Roundup 


10:00 
10:15 
10:30 

10:45 


Lee Sullivan 
Lora Lawton 
Road of Life 

.-s ri . . 
Joyce loXQaiJ 


Once Over Lightly 
Faith In Our Time 
Say It With Music 


My True Story 

Hymns of All 

Churches 
Club Time 


Give and Take 
Evelyn Winters 
David Harum 


11:00 
11:15 
11:30 
11:45 


Fred Waring 

Jack Berch 
David Harum 


Cecil Sr? wn 
Tell Your Neis^or 
Bill Harrington 
Victor H. Lindlahr 


Tom Breneman 

Hollywood Story 
fed NijionB . 


Arthur Godfrey 

Grand Slam 
Rosemary 



AFTERNOON PROGRAMS 



12:00 




Checkerboard Time 


Kenny Baker Show 


Kate Smith Speaks 


12:15 




Morton Downey 




Aunt Jenny 


12:30 




U. N. Serenade 


At Your Request 


Helen Trent 


12:45 








Our Gal Sunday 


1:00 






Baukhage 


Big Sister 


1:15 






Powers Charm 


Ma Perkins 


1:30 




Jackie Hill 


School 


Young Dr. Malone 


1:45 




John J. Anthony 




Road of Life 


2:00 


Today's Children 


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Second Mrs. Burton 


2:15 


Women in White 


Smile Time 


Ethel and Albert 


Perry Mason 


2:30 


Masquerade 


Queen For A Day 


Bride and Groom 




2:45 


Light of the World 






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3:00 


Life Can Be Beautiful 


Heart's Desire 


Ladies Be Seated 




3:15 


Ma Perkins 








3:30 


Pepper Young 


Hospitality Club 




Winner Take All 


3:45 


Right to Happiness 




Jean Colbert 




4:00 


Backstage Wife 


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Tommy Riggs Show 




4:15 


Stella Dallas 


Johnson Family 






4:30 


Lorenzo Jones 


Sea Hound 


Cliff Edwards 


Hollywood Jackpot 


4:45 


Young Widder Brown 


Buck Rogers 


Dick Tracy 




5:00 


When A Girl Marries 


Hop Harrigan 


Terry and Pirates 


American School of 


5:15 


Portia Faces Life 


Superman 


Sky King 


the Air 


5:30 


Just Plain Bill 


Captain Midnight 


Jack Armstrong 


Bouquet For You 


5:45 


Front Page Farrell 


Tom Mix 


Tennessee Jed 





EVENING PROGRAMS 



6:00 
6:15 
6:30 
6:45 


Serenade to America 




Kiernan's Corner 


In My Opinion 
Red Barber Sports 
Bob Trout 


7:00 
7:15 
7:30 
7:45 


Chesterfield Club 


Fulton Lewis 
Vincent Lopez 
Henry J. Taylor 
Inside of Sports 


Headline Edition 
Elmer Davis 
The Lone Ranger 


Mystery of the Week 
Jack Smith 
Bob Hawk Show 


8:00 
8:15 
8:30 
8:45 


Cavalcade of America 
Voice of Firestone 


McGarry and Mouse 

Casebook of Gregory 
Hood 


Lum and Abner 
This is John Paris 
Fat Man Detective 
Stories 


Inner Sanctum 
Joan Davis 


9:00 
9:15 
9:30 
9:45 


Telephone Hour 
Victor Borge 


Gabriel Heatter 
Real Stories 
Guy Lombardo 


Dark Venture 

Johnny Olsen's 
Rumpus Room 


Lux Radio Theater 


10:00 
10:15 
10:30 


Contented Program 
Dr. 1. Q. 


Fishing & Hunting 

Club 
Broadway Turns 

Back 


Doctors Talk It Over 


Screen Guild Players 

Sweeney and 
March 



WEB IN E S D A F 



— wearing the creation by Hat- 
tie Carnegie which was inspired 
by the March of Dimes. But it 
*~~ J? I really all began when a little 
|P**j ] Quaker girl (Hedda) saw a 
- *> . i great Barrymore (Ethel) play 
in Captain Jinks. For Hedda decided then and 
there to become an actress. She ran away from 
home, went from acting to reporting for CBS. 
The Quaker bonnet evolved into a series of the 
gayest, maddest hats in all Hollywood. 



A.M. 


NBC Hlk 


WlfcS 710k 


ABC 77 


CBS 880k 


8:30 
8:45 










9:00 
9:15 
9:30 
9:45 


Honeymoon in N. Y. 
Daytime Classics 


Editor's Diary 
Shady Valley Folks 


Breakfast Club 


CBS Morning News 
Oklahoma Roundup 


10:00 
10:15 
10:30 
10:45 


Lee Sullivan 
Lora Lawton 
Road of Life 
Joyce Jordan 


Once Over Lightly 
Faith In Our Time 
Say It With Music 


My True Story 

Hymnsof All Churches 
Listening Post 


Give and Take 

Evelyn Winters 
David Harum 


11:00 
11:15 
11:30 
11:45 


Fred Waring 

Jack Berch 
David Harum 


Cecil Brown 
Tell Your Neighbor 
Bill Harrington 
Victor H. Lindlahr 


Tom Breneman 

Hollywood Story 
Ted Malone 


Arthur Godfrey 

Grand Slam 
Rosemary 



AF-TE'KNOON PROGRAM'S 



TUESDAY 



A.M. 


NBC 660k 


MBS710l< 


ABC 770k 


CBS 8£uk 


8:30 
8:45 








Step Weigand Trio 


9:00 
9:15 
9:30 
9:45 


Honeymoon in N. Y. 
Daytime Classics 


Editor's Diary 
Shady Valley Folks 


Breakfast Club 


CBS Morning News 
Oklahoma Roundup 


10:00 
10:15 
10:30 
10:45 


Lee Sullivan 
Lora Lawton 
Road of Life 
Joyce Jordan 


Once Over Lightly 
Faith In Our Time 
Say It With Music 


My True Story 

Hymnsof All Churches 
Listening Post 


Give and Take 

Evelyn Winters 
David Harum 


11:00 
11:15 
11:30 
11:45 


Fred Waring 

Jack Berch 
David Harum 


Cecil Brown 
Tell Your Neighbor 
Bill Harrington 
Victor H. Lindlahr 


Tom Breneman 

Hollywood Story 
William Lang 


Arthur Godfrey 

Grand Slam 
Rosemary 



AFTERNOON PROGRAMS 



12:00 




Checkerboard Time 


Kenny Baker Show 


Kate Smith Speaks 


12:15 


Local Programs 


Morton Downey 




Aunt Jenny 


12:30 




U. S. Marine Band 


At Your Request 


Helen Trent 


12:45 








Our Gal Sunday 


1:00 






Baukhaoe 


Big Sister 


1:15 


Local Programs 




Powers Charm School 


Ma Perkins 


1:30 




Jackie Hill 




Young Dr. Malone 


1:45 




John J. Anthony 




Road of Life 


2:00 


Today's Children 


Cedric Foster 




Second Mrs. Burton 


2:15 


Woman in White 


Smile Time 


Ethel and Albert 


Perry Mason 


2:30 


Masquerade 


Queen For A Day 


Bride and Groom 




2:45 


Light of the World 






Rose of My Dreams 


3:00 


Life Can Be Beautiful 


Heart's Desire 


Ladies Be Seated 




3:15 


Ma Perkins 








3:30 


Pepper Young 


Hospitality Club 




Winner Take All 


3:45 


Right to Happiness 




Jean Colbert 




4:00 


Backstage Wife 


Erskine Johnson 






4:15 


Stella Dallas 


The Johnson Family 






4:30 


Lorenzo Jones 


Sea Hound 


Cliff Edwards 


Hollywood Jackpot 


4:45 


Young Widder Brown 


Buck Rogers 


Dick Tracy 




5:00 


When A Girl Marries 


Hop Harrigan 


Terry and Pirates 


American School of 


5:15 


Portia Faces Life 


Superman 


Sky King 


the Air 


5:30 


Just Plain Bill 


Captain Midnight 


Jack Armstrong 


Theatre of Romance 


5:45 


Front Page Farrell 


Tom Mix 


Tennessee Jed 





12:00 




Checkerboard Time 


Kenny Baker Show 


Kate Smith Speaks 


12:15 


Local Programs 


Morton Downey 




Aunt Jenny 


12:30 




Naval Academy Band 


At Your Request 


Helen Trent 


12:45 








Our Gal Sunday 


1:00 


U. S. Navy Band 




Baukhage * 


Big Sister 


1:15 






Powers Charm School 


Ma Perkins 


1:30 




Jackie Hill 




Young Dr. Malone 


1:45 




John J. Anthony 




Road of Life 


2:00 


Today's Children 


Cedric Foster 




Second Mrs. Burton 


2:15 


Women in White 


Smile Time 


Ethel and Albert 


Perry Mason 


2:30 


Masquerade 


Queen For A Day 


Bride and Groom 




2:45 


Light of the World 






Rose of My Dreams 


3:00 


Life Can Be Beautiful 


Heart's Desire 


Ladies Be Seated 




3:15 


Ma Perkins 








3:30 


Pepper Young 


Hospitality Club 




Winner Take All 


3:45 


Right to Happiness 




Jean Colbert 




4:00 


Backstage Wife 


Erskine Johnson 


Tommy Riggs Show 




4:15 


Stella Dallas 


Johnson Family 






4:30 


Lorenzo Jones 


Sea Hound 


Cliff Edwards 


That's Life 


4:45 


Young Widder Brown 


Buck Rogers 


Dick Tracy 




5:00 


When A Girl Marries 


Hop Harrigan 


Terry and Pirates 


American School of 


5:15 


Portia Faces Life 


Superman 


Sky King 


the Air 


5:30 


Just Plain Bill 


Captain Midnight 


Jack Armstrong 


Bouquet For You 


5:45 


Front Page Farrell 


Tom Mix 


Tennessee Jed 


The Chicagoans 



G PROGRAMS 



6:00 






Kiernan's Corner 




6:15 


Serenade to America 


Local Proqrams 




Word From the 
Country 


6:30 








Red Barber 


6:45 


Lowell Thomas 








7:00 


Chesterfield Club 


Fulton Lewis, Jr. 


Headline Edition 


Mystery of the Week 


7:15 




Korn Kobblers 


Raymond Swing 


Jack Smith 


7:30 


Carolyn Gilbert 


Cecil Brown 


Lone Ranger 


Ellery Queen 


7:45 




Inside of Sports 






8:00 


Dennis Day 




Lum and Abner 


Jack Carson 


8:15 






This is John Paris 




8:30 


Great Gildersleeve 


It's Up To Youth 






8:45 










9:00 


Duffy's Tavern 


Gabriel Heatter 


Ann Scotland 


Frank Sinatra 


9:15 




Real Stories 






9:30 


Mr. District Attorney 


What's the Name 


Pot of Gold 


Dinah Shore 


9:45 




of That Song 






10:00 


Frank Morgan 


Author Meets Critics 


Bing Crosby 


Hollywood Players 


10:15 










10:30 


Kay Kyser 


Dance Orchestra 


Henry Morgan 


Information Please 



EVENING PROGRAMS 



6:00 






Kiernan's Corner 




6:15 


Serenade To America 








6:30 




Local Programs 




Red Barber 


6:45 


Lowell Thomas 








7:00 


Chesterfield Club 


Fulton Lewis, Jr. 


Headline Edition 


Mystery of the Week 


7:15 




Dance Orchestra 


Elmer Davis 


Jack Smith 


7:30 


Bob Houston 


Arthur Hale 




American Melody 


7:45 




Inside of Sports 




Hour 


8:00 


Rudy Vallee 


Michael Shayne 


Lum and Abner 


Big Town 


8:15 






This is John Paris 




8:30 


A Date With Judy 


Adventures of The 


Boston Symphony 


Mel Blanc Show 


8:45 




Falcon 






9:00 


Amos and Andy 


Gabriel Heatter 




Vox Pop 


9:15 




Real Stories 


Local Programs 




9:30 


Fibber McGee and 


American Forum 




Arthur Godfrey and 


9:45 


Molly 






Talent Scouts 


10:00 


Bob Hope 








10:15 




Upton Close 


Local Programs 




10:30 


Red Skelton 


Dance Orchestra 




Open Hearing 



;::■; 



—has played on almost ever> 
network program originating 
from Chicago. Currently she's 
Martha Logan on ABC's Break- 
fast Club. Effie Fitz on the CBS 
Ma Perkins broadcast and Kay 
Benning of Breakfast with the Bennings, a feature 
on Chicago's local station, WMAQ. It all adds up 
to a day which begins at 730 a.m. and ends at 11:30 
p.m. and leaves her poised, blonde and beautiful. 
She finds time to be local secretary of the American 
Federation of Radio Artists, too. 



R 
M 

61 



A.M. 


NBC 660k 


MBS 710k 


ABC 770k 


CBS 880k 


8:30 
8:45 










9:00 
9:15 
9:30 
9:45 


Honeymoon in N. Y. 
Daytime Classics 


Editor's Diary 
Shady Valley Folks 


Breakfast Club 


CBS Morning News 
Oklahoma Roundup 


10:00 
10:15 
10:30 

10:45 


Lee Sullivan 
Lora Lawton 
Road of Life 

Joyce Jordan 


Once Over Lightly 
Faith In Our Time 
Say It With Music 


My True Story 

Hymns of All 

Churches 
The Listening Post 


Give and Take 
Evelyn Winters 
David Harum 


11:00 
11:15 
11:30 

11:45 


Fred Waring 

Jack Berch 
David Harum 


Cecil Brown 
Tell Your Neighbor 
Bill Harrington 
Victor H. Lindlahr 


Tom Breneman 

Hollywood Story 
William Lang 


Arthur Godfrey 

Grand Slam 
Rosemary 




— brillianl yonng symphonic con- 
rluvtor who returned from a recent 

■ ". "• - . 

tion To Musk, heard Wednesday 
nights at 11:30 EST. Part of com- 

..-'■; pOJS!-»cencii«t<!-r HtT-xasirm's smi£ 

m Enahwd was meal in the Brtr 
he made note* for his . 
Emily Bronte's masierpieee, "Wmhering Heights". 




AFTERNOON PROGRAMS 



12:00 




Checkerboard Time 


Kenny Baker Show 


Kate Smith Speaks 


12:15 


Local Programs 


Morton Downey 




Aunt Jennv 


12:30 




U. S. Navy Band 


At Your Request 


Helen Trent 


12:45 








Our Gal Sunday 


1:00 






Baukhage 


Big Sister 


1:15 


Local Programs 




Powers Charm Show 


Ma Perkins 


1:30 




Jackie Hill 




Young Dr. Malone 


1:45 




John J. Anthony 




Road of Life 


2:00 


Today's Children 


Cedric Foster 




Second Mrs. Burton 


2:15 


Woman in White 


Smile Time 


Ethel and Albert 


Perry Mason 


2:30 


Masquerade 


Queen For A Day 


Bride and Groom 




2:45 


Light of the World 






Rose of My Dreams 


3:00 


Life Can Be Beautiful 


Heart's Desire 


Ladies Be Seated 




3:15 


Ma Perkins 








3:30 


Pepper Young 


Hospitality Club 




Winner Take All 


3:45 


Right to Happiness 




Jean Colbert 




4:00 


Backstage Wife 


Erskine Johnson 


Tommy Riggs Show 




4:15 


Stella Dallas 


Johnson Family 






4:30 


Lorenzo Jones 


Sea Hound 


Cliff Edwards 


That's Life 


4:45 


Young Widder Brown 


Buck Rogers 


Dick Tracy 




5:00 


When A Girl Marries 


Hop Harrigan 


Terry and Pirates 


American School of 


5:15 


Portia Faces Life 


Superman 


Sky King 


the Air 


5:30 


Just Plain Bill 


Captain Midnight 


Jack Armstrong 


Bouquet For You 


5:45 


Front Page Farrell 


Tom Mix 


Tennessee Jed 





EVENING PROGRAMS 



6:00 






Kiernan's Corner 




6:15 


Serenade to America 






In My Opinion 


6:30 


Clem McCarthy 


Local Programs 




Red Barber 


6:45 


Lowell Thomas 








7:00 


Chesterfield Club 


Fulton Lewis, Jr. 


Headline Edition 




7:15 




Vincent Lopez 


Raymond Swing 


Jack Smith 


7:30 


Grand Marquee 


Arthur Hale 


Professor Quiz 


Mr. Keen 


7:45 




Inside of Sports 






8:00 


Aldrich Family 


Mark Warnow 


Lum and Abner 


Suspense 


8:15 






Erwin D. Canham 




8:30 


Burns and Allen 


Count of Monte 


America's Town 


F. B. 1. Peace and 


8:45 




Cristo 


Meeting 


War 


9:00 


Eddie Duchin, Eddie 


Gabriel Heatter 




Dick Haymes 


9:15 


Foy, Jr. 


Real Stories 






9:30 


Jack Haley with 


Hour of Song 


Sammy Kaye 


Crime Photographer 


9:45 


Eve Arden 








10:00 


Abbott and Costello 


1 Was A Convict 


World Security 




10:15 










10:30 


Eddie Cantor 




Ralph Norman 


That's Finnegan 



A.M. 


NBC 660k 


MBS 710k 


ABC„770k 


CBS 880k 


8:30 
8:45 










9:00 
9:15 
9:30 
9:45 


Honeymoon in N. Y. 
Daytime Classics 


Editor's Diary 
Shady Valley Folks 


Breakfast Club 


CBS Morning News 
Oklahoma Roundup 


10:00 
10:15 
10:30 

10:45 


Lee Sullivan 
Lora Lawton 
Road of Life 

Joyce Jordan 


Once Over Lightly 
Faith In Our Time 
Say It With Music 


My True Story 

Hymns of All 

Churches 
Listening Post 


Give and Take 
Evelyn Winters 
David Harum 


11:00 
11:15 
11:30 
11:45 


Fred Waring 

Jack Berch 
David Harum 


Cecil Brown 
Tell Your Neighbor 
Bill Harrington 
Victor H. Lindlahr 


Tom Breneman 

Hollywood Story 
Ted Malone 


Arthur Godfrey 

Grand Slam 

Rosemary 



AFTERNOON PROGRAMS 



12:00 




Checkerboard Time 


Kenny Baker Show 


Kate Smith Speaks 


12:15 


Local Programs 


Morton Downey 




Aunt Jenny 


12:30 




Campus Salute 




Helen Trent 


12:45 






At Your Request 


Our Gal Sunday 


1:00 








Big Sister 


1:15 


Local Programs 




Charm School 


Ma Perkins 


1:30 




Jackie Hill 


Our Singing Land 


Young Dr. Malone 


1:45 




John J. Anthony 


Stringing Along 


Road of Life 


2:00 


Today's Children 


Cedric Foster 




Second Mrs. Burton 


2:15 


Woman in White 


Smile Time 


Ethel and Albert 


Perry Mason 


2:30 


Masquerade 


Queen For A Day 


Bride and Groom 




2:45 


Light of the World 






Rose of My Dreams 


3:00 


Life Can Be Beautiful 


Heart's Desire 


Ladies Be Seated 




3:15 


Ma Perkins 








3:30 


Pepper Young 


Hospitality Club 




Winner Take All 


3:45 


Right to Happiness 




Jean Colbert 




4:00 


Backstage Wife 


Erskine Johnson 


Tommy Riggs 




4:15 


Stella Dallas 


Johnson Family 






4:30 


Lorenzo Jones 


Sea Hound 


Cliff Edwards 


Hollywood Jackpot 


4:45 


Young Widder Brown 


Buck Rogers 


Dick Tracy 




5:00 


When A Girl Marries 


Hop Harrigan 


Terry and Pirates 


American School of 


5:15 


Portia Faces Life 


Superman 


Sky King 


the Air 


5:30 


Just Plain Bill 


Captain Midnight 


Jack Armstrong 


Bouquet For You 


5:45 


Front Page Farrell 


Tom Mix 


Tennessee Jed 






EVENING PROGRAMS 



— the man who suffers more than, 

any father should be asked to sut- 
ler is. of course, the man who h 
radio father to Baby Snook*, the 
plaintively maddening brat played 
by Fannie Briee. He is a mine of 
nformation with a eolossal will and power 
ice, every Sunday night at 6:30 on CBS. 
, probably, he goes out and 



6:00 
6:15 
6:30 
6:45 


News 

Serenade to America 

Lowell Thomas 


Local Programs 


Kiernan's Corner 


Quincy Howe 
Red Barber, Sports 


7:00 
7:15 
7:30 
7:45 


Chesterfield Club 


Fulton Lewis, Jr. 
Dance Orchestra 
Henry J. Taylor 
Inside of Sports 


Headline Edition 
Raymond Swing 
Lone Ranger 


Mystery of the Week 
Jack Smith 
Sparkle Time 


8:00 
8:15 
8:30 
8:45 


Highways in Melody 
Alan Young 


Burl Ives 

Monica Makes Music 

Love Story Theater 


Court of Missing 

Heirs 
This Is Your FBI 


Baby Snooks 
Thin Man 


9:00 
9:15 
9:30 
9:45 


People Are Funny 
Waltz Time 


Gabriel Heatter 
Real Stories 
Bulldog Drummond 


Break the Bank 
The Sheriff 


Ginny Simms 
Durante and Moore 


10:00 
10:15 
10:30 


Mystery Theatre 


Spotlight on America 
Meet the Press 


Boxing Bouts 


It Pay to be 
Ignorant 
Maisie 



SATURDAY 



A.M. 


NBC.E60k 


MBS 710k 


ABC 770k 


CBS 880k 


9:00 
9:15 
9:30 
9:45 


Percolator Party 

Camp Meetin' Choir 
A Miss and a Male 


Rainbow House 


Wake Up and Smile 


CBS Morning News 
The Garden Gate 
Renfro Valley Folk 


10:00 
10:15 
10:30 
10:45 


Frank Merriwell 
Archie Andrews 


Smilin' Ed McConnell 
Jackie Hill 


Betty Moore 
Song Spinners 
Junior Junction 


Barny and Follies 
Mary Lee Taylor 


11:00 

11:15 
11:30 
11:45 


Teentimers Club 
Smilin' Ed McConnell 


This Week in Wash- 
ington 
Vacation Symphony 
Quaker City Sera. 


Elizabeth Woodward 

Johnny Thompson 
Piano Playhouse 


Let's Pretend 
Adventurers Club 



AFTERNOON PROGRAMS 



12:00 
12:15 
12:30 
12:45 


Consumer Time 
Home Is What You 
Make It 


Judy, Jill. Johnny 
Bands for Bonds 


Texas Jim Robertson 
Tell Me Doctor 
American Farmer 


Theatre of Today 
Stars Over Hollywood 


1:00 
1:15 
1:30 
1:45 


Nat'l Farm Home 
Veteran's Aid 




To Live In Peace 
Fascinating Rhythm 


Grand Central Sta. 
County Fair 


2:00 
2:15 
2:30 
2:45 


Your Host is Buffalo 

The Baxters 
Bob Houston 


Pro-Arte Quartet 
Art Jarrett 


Metropolitan Opera 


Give and Take 

Adventures in Science 
Country Journal 


3:00 
3:15 
3:30 

3:45 


Nations' Orchestras 


Art Mooney 
Ray Benson 


Local Programs 


Treasury Band 

Stand 
Cross Section U.S.A. 


4:00 
4:15 
4:30 

4:45 


Doctors Then and 

Now 
Hollywood Previews 


Local Programs 


Local Programs 


Adventures in 

Science 
Of Men and Books 


5:00 
5:15 
5:30 
5:45 


Nelson Olmstead 
Songs by Snooky 
Edward Tomlinson 
King Cole Trio 


For Your Approval 
Sports Parade 


Tea and Crumpets 


Philadelphia Orch. 



EVENING PROGRAMS 



6:00 
6:15 
6:30 
6:45 


Rhapsody of the 

Rockies 
Boston Tune Party 
Religion in the News 


Cleveland Symphony 
Lorenzo Fuller 
Eddie Howard 


Jimmie Blair 
Chittison Trio 
Harry Wismer 
Labor U. S. A. 


Columbia Workshop 
Larry Lesuer 


7:00 
7:15 
7:30 
7:45 


Our Foreign Policy 
Curtain Time 


Hawaii Calls 

Arthur Hale 
Sports Session 


Voice of Business 
Elmer Davis 
Curt Massey 


Waitin' For Clayton 
Vaughn Monroe 


8:00 
8:15 
8:30 
8:45 


Life of Riley 

Truth or Conse- 
quences 


Twenty Questions 
Scramby Amby 


Famous Jury Trials 
1 Deal In Crime 


Hollywood Star Time 
Mayor of the Town 


9:00 
9:15 
9:30 
9:45 


Roy Rogers 

Can You Top This? 


Ministrels 

Leave It to the Girls 


Gang Busters 
Sherlock Holmes 


Your Hit Parade 

Saturday Night 
Serenade 


10:00 
10:15 
10:30 


Judy Canova 
Grand Ole Opry 


Theater of the Air 


American Melodies 
Hayloft Hoedown 


This Is Hollywood 




'■^ *"*«!* —■whose recent re and 

^^mLgMjii radio work has revealed an unex> 

^Bi ';"$ peetedly i personality £ o 

^K"J« s the large pnbHc which has for 

\" y<-arx been singing his songs > like 

Stardust). Hoagy's musical pro- 
gram is heard Sunday afternoons from 5:45 to 6:00 
EM, EST- on Columbia network stations, featuring 
Iris own and other songs and his dry, staccato piano. 



A wvmdbt oZtrnw 



Some of the most highly recommendable-for-listen- 
ing comedy programs on the air are those based on the 
sometimes trying but always funny relationships of 
harassed parents to their unpredictable children. 
And of course, one of the oldest, funniest and best 
known of these is the Baby Snooks Show, which you 
hear Friday evenings at 8:00 P.M., EST, on the 
Columbia Broadcasting System stations. The typi- 
cally-radio thing about this show and others in the 
same category, is that children are seldom, if ever, 
played by children — that is, the grown-ups play the 
youngsters' parts, and do such a howlingly successful 
job of it that we doubt that any casting director, look- 
ing around for someone to play the part of a child on 
a comedy program, would consider anyone but a sea- 
soned actor or actress. On the Baby Snooks Show, 
for instance, Fanny Brice, of course, tops the list as 
the irrepressible Snooks. But the other children on 
the program are adults, too — Snooks's baby brother, 
who labors under the name of Robespierre, is played 
by Leone Ledoux; Georgia Ellis takes the part of 
Roger, the boy next door (not only does she play a 
child, but a boy child!) and Sara Berner is Phoebe, 
the Terrible Tot's dearest friend. 

* * * 
What's-the-world-coming-to-department: Rumor 

has it that there is soon to be a new daytime serial 
on the air. That's usually good news, but, until the 
show is decided on, not good enough news to report. 
But despite the fact that the type "of show has not 
yet, in this case, been set, this time it's still news — 
according to the rumor, the leading lady will be Mae 
West. Now we really will await breathlessly further 

developments! 

* * * 

Latest addition to the growing list of distinguished 
disc jockeys, and also an addition to the likewise 
growing list of distinguished husband-and-wife teams 
on the radio are Andre Baruch and Bea Wain. Bea is, 
of course, the singer you've heard on many network 
programs, and her husband is the equally well-known 
network announcer — you'll remember him especially 
from the days before he went into Service. Known to 
their listeners as Mr. and Mrs. Music, Bea and Andre 
are heard at present on New York's WMCA. 

* * * 

What was your favorite program a year ago? Do 
you remember what was "required listening" for you 
then? If you were the average American radio lis- 
tener at this time in 1946, your daytime favorites 
were, in this order: When A Girl Marries, Portia 
Faces Life, Ma Perkins, Breakfast in Hollywood, The 
Romance of Helen Trent, Pepper Young's Family, 
Young Widder Brown, Our Gal Sunday, Stella Dallas, 
and Big Sister. Which just goes to show that if a 
program is good, its listeners are faithful, for all of 
these programs are still on the air. Your ten favorites 
in the daytime category this year, at the time we went 
to press, were these, in this order: Young Widder 
Brown, Breakfast Club, Our Gal Sunday, When A 
Girl Marries, Breakfast in Hollywood, Portia Faces 
Life, the Romance of Helen Trent, and Big Sister. 
That doesn't add up to ten, but that's because Break- 
fast Club, divided into several different listening 
periods during the time it's on the air, comes twice 
on the list. 

How about the night time, and Sunday shows? 
Here they are, in order, as of a year ago: Bob Hope, 
Fibber McGee and Molly, Charlie McCarthy, Radio 
Theatre, Jack Benny, Red Skelton, Mr. District Attor- 
ney, Fred Allen, Walter Winchell, Take It Or Leave 
it, Abbott and Costello, Screen Guild Players, Music 
Hall, Great Gildersleeve, Eddie Cantor. At the time 
Radio Mirror went to press, these were leading the 
list of favorites for 1947: Jack Benny, Fibber McGee 
and Molly, Bob Hope, Charlie McCarthy, Fred Allen, 
Radio Theatre, Amos and Andy, Walter Winchell, Red 
Skelton, Screen Guild Players, Bandwagon, Mr. Dis- 
trict Attorney, Take It Or Leave It, Great Gilder- 
sleeve, Fanny Brice. So you see, the order may 
change a little, but your allegiance to your favorite 
program seldom wavers — isn't that right? 



R 

IYI 

63 



My Boss, Tom Breneman 



cleared away ... we counted 52,000 
towels fans had sent in. Certainly no 
other celebrity has more sincere fans 
than my boss has. On several oc- 
casions enthusiastic fans have jumped 
the guns on 1948 at broadcasts by call- 
ing out loudly, "Tom Breneman for 
President!" Which has prompted my 
boss, who has absolutely no political 
aspirations beyond his present post of 
Honorary Mayor of Encino, to shake his 
head and say, "Good gosh . . . this thing 
can get out of hand." 

He lives life backwards ... by the 
Hollywood rules. He goes to bed at 
seven o'clock in the evening, just when 
the night is beginning for most movie- 
land citizens, and rises at 5:00 A.M. 
when a few of them, no doubt, are just 
getting in from doing the town. 

He himself doesn't breakfast in Hol- 
lywood, but makes his own ... a hearty 
one ... in the Breneman kitchen around 
5:30 or 6:00 A.M. 

AROUND 7:30 he arrives at his office, 
which looks down on the world's 
most glamorous intersection, Hollywood 
and Vine — a block away. But it looks far 
from glittery that early in the morning. 
His office does its homey best to make 
up in color and charm what it lacks, at 
that hour, in companionship. It has an 
unusual heart-shaped bleached walnut 
desk, wine-colored furniture and car- 
peting, restful pale blue walls, and 
handsome maroon and blue striped 
drapes of heavy satin damask. 

There in solitary silence, he goes over 
the commercials and looks over the 
memos Mr. Masterson or I have left 
him. Then he goes to the restaurant, 
three blocks away. He stays after the 
broadcast until around 10:30 giving au- 
tographs, talking with people, and 
checking up on things at the restaurant. 
He comes by the office for a little while, 
and is usually gone before noon, in 
bed come seven that night to rise again 
by five. 

For the most part, I'm secretary by 
correspondence. Since he works grave- 
yard and I take the day shift, most of 
our business is carried on through 
memos to each other. 

The boss lives in the San Fernando 
Valley, thirteen miles from town, in a 
comfortable one-acre place, shaded by 
walnut trees. 

I'm proud of my boss and his family. 
They're just normal home-loving 



(Continued from page 31) 

American folks. There's his attractive 
blonde wife, talented eighteen-year-old 
daughter Gloria, who wants to be a 
radio singer, and thirteen-year-old 
Tom, Jr., better known as "Brennie", 
who's bent on being a drummer some 
day. There's also an 11-year-old dog 
named "Rusty" and a part-Persian cat 
called "Toughie", who are important 
subsidiary members of the household. 
He says his chief recreation around 
home is puttering and poking. He likes 
to keep a good roaring fire going in the 
living room fireplace, and is always 
poking away at one to keep it ablaze. 

Whenever he speaks of his "handi- 
ness" around the house, however, he 
takes a lot of kidding from those of 
us who know about it, about his "$1000 
front door." One day the boss decided 
the door needed freshening up a little, 
got out his paint brush and painted it, 
and then had to have the rest of the 
whole house repainted to match. 

Around the restaurant and the office, 
the boss is a fastidious dresser, always 
perfectly groomed, and goes in for con- 
servative suits. He throws himself so 
completely into the show that he's 
usually disheveled with wilted tie and 
collar when it's over, and he keeps full 
wardrobe facilities at the office in order 
to change clothes after the show. 

When he goes to a rodeo, or appears 
at some function on behalf of his of- 
ficial duties as "Hizzoner," the Mayor 
of Encino, he wears full Western 
clothes, including the red and white 
cowboy shirt Rodeo Ben sent him from 
Philadelphia, and some handsome tan 
leather cowboy boots given him by 
Bob O'Donnell, of the Interstate Thea- 
ter Chain. 

He never wears a hat, with the ex- 
ception of an old beat-up rain hat that 
shrinks and curls up around the edges 
when it rains. Or a Stetson to a rodeo. 
Other than that, he's positively allergic 
to millinery of any kind. Mrs. Brene- 
man laughingly says that she seldom 
gets away with wearing a hat. That he 
eyes any new one she gets and sug- 
gests that she never wear it again. 

For that matter, none of us around 
the office ever wear a hat either if we 
can help it. Unless it's a social neces- 
sity, when we have a big luncheon or 
dinner date. Or when accompanying 
him on out-of-town personal appear- 
ances, on which occasions I do my best 
to measure up to what's expected by 



R 

M 

64 



TUNE IN 



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the public of- a Breneman employe. 

I spent many hours shopping for a 
hat for a special show he put on in 
San Diego. It was loaded with violets 
and pansies and fluffed up with yards of 
veiling. Going down on the plane 
everybody complimented me on it 
except the boss. When somebody finally 
asked him point blank what he thought 
about it, I was sorry. "It's very pretty," 
he said, without enthusiasm, and added, 
"in a repulsive sort of way." 

Regardless of that crack, I won't 
embarrass him by relating all the good 
neighborly deeds he does. But just to 
get the orchid rolling, I might mention 
a few: 

Such as the thousands of letters I 
read that mention the warmth, cheer, 
and encouragement his cheerful phi- 
losophy inspires. The $100,000 he raised 
for the Braille Institute of the Blind, 
by auctioning off hats at a big party 
attended by celebrities at Earl Carroll's 
restaurant. Or the March of Dimes 
drives he conducts when about a mil- 
lion dimes are sent in to him. 

Recently Norman Nesbit got the idea 
of getting a hand-controlled airplane 
for the boys at a local Veterans' hos- 
pital who'd lost their legs during the 
war. The boss was most enthusiastic 
about it. The Breakfast in Hollywood 
partnership contributed half of the cost 
of one, and he passed the hat around 
the restaurant and raised the rest. 

FREQUENTLY the boss will be so 
touched by the sincerity of some lady 
on the show that he adds a gift out of 
his own pocket. As one morning recent- 
ly when a ninety-year-old woman drew 
the lucky number for the wishing ring, 
and "wished" that she could visit her 
relatives in Minneapolis. "I'd like to 
fly too," she said. "I never have." 

"Well, go home and start packing, 
Mother. We'll fly you there and back," 
the boss said. 

With only his own good neighbor pol- 
icy for a platform, my boss was elected 
Honorary Mayor of Encino last year 
over a field of candidates that included 
Paul Muni, Mischa Auer, and "Wild" 
Bill Elliott. And this year all the other 
candidates withdrew in the boss's favor, 
so the Chamber of Commerce made him 
Mayor again. 

Nothing has ever touched "Hizzoner" 
like the visit back to his old home- 
town, Waynesboro. Pa. 

It was his first visit back to this little 
town in the Cumberland Valley since 
he left there an unknown some twenty 
years before. He decided to just take a 
run over for a quiet visit with a few 
old friends. 

To his surprise, all of Waynesboro 
was waiting to meet him when he got 
there. The local band escorted him 
down Main Street to the steps of the 
City Hall, where all the leading citizens 
made speeches welcoming him. That 
night there was a big civic dinner in his 
honor; everybody in town turned out. 

This was Waynesboro's "orchid" to 
him. And the boss was so touched by 
their sincerity, the warmth and feeling 
of the welcome shown him, that he 
broke down and cried when he got back 
to his room in the hotel. 

I'm no good at making speeches. And 
I don't know anybody with a band. All 
I can do is write what I believe, and 
offer him a few left-over orchids from 
around the office . . . for being the 
best, best neighbor of them all. 



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8 

M 

65 




Step right up and ask your questions — if we don't know 



INFORMATION BOOTH is the part of Radio Minor for which 
you readers are responsible. The -Editors of Radio Mirror are 
delighted with the stream of letters which come in from you 
concerning radio and radio personalities. (Sometimes a question 
comes in from all parts of the country at once — very interesting — 
but don't mind if we only answer it once.) 

Each month we'll select the questions we think you would be 
most interested in knowing the answers to and publish them, to- 
gether with the answers. If you have a question about your favor- 
ite program or radio star, just write to Information Booth, Radio 
Mirror, 205 E. 42nd Street, New York 17, N. Y. 

HEART'S DESIRE 



Dear Editor: 

Would you kindly give me information 
about the program which requests that 
people write a letter to the program asking 
for some specific thing but leaving a blank 
space instead of indicating what you wish. 
A contestant has an opportunity to fill 
the blank and name the item desired. If 
that letter is read over the air that party 
receives the item requested in the letter. 
What is the name and address of the program and when does it go 
on the air? I heard a part of the program once but was not able 
to catch the name and haven't been able to locate it since. 

Mrs. F. P. 
Vallejo, Calif. 

The radio program you have in mind is the very popular show 
Heart's Desire. It is broadcast over the Mutual Network from 
the famed Billingsley s Restaurant in Hollywood, Mondays through 
Fridays. Ben Alexander is the master of ceremonies, air time is 
from 3 to 3:30 p.m., EST. 




:ander 




Frances Langford 



BEAUTIFUL LADIES 

Dear Editor: 

For quite a while now you have not 
printed any pictures of one of the best 
little troopers who ever sang into a mike 
and all of us who watched her doing her 
GI shows would like to have another look 
at Frances Langford. How about it? And 
how about Jo Stafford, too? 

J. B. D. 
Cliffside, N. J. 



How very right you are. Herewith the 
pictures and a promise of more and larger 
pictures soon. Frances, you may know, is 
on NBC's Don Ameche show on Sunday 
nights and Jo on the Supper Club, Tues- 
days and Thursdays, over the same network. 

GOOD BEGINNING 




Jo Stafford 



Dear Editor: 

I have been reading your magazine for many years and seldom 
see any pictures of the nice announcers that come into our homes 
every day. 

Mrs. B. J. R. 
Lowell, Mass. 

Please let us point with pride to the Dwight Weist feature in 
January, and the George A. Putnam one in February. And we 
are going to keep it up, too, because we believe you are right. 

9 9 9 



WHO, INDEED? 

Dear Editor: 

Who is Mrs. Calabash, whom Jimmy Durante says good-night to 
on his Friday broadcast over CBS? 

Sgt. F. D. V., Jr. 
Boiling Field 

We wish we knew, Sergeant, how we wish we knew — and when 
we find out you shall be the first to hear. We have a dark suspi- 
cion that he's "got a million of 'em." 



TROUBADOUR 

Dear Editor: 

I read in a newspaper that Burl Ives 
has a weekly program but I cannot find 
out on what day or what time he is on 
the air. I would appreciate it very much 
if you could give me this information. 

Mrs. 0. P. McM. 
Yoakum, Texas 

Each week on Friday evening Burl Ives 
broadcasts over the Mutual Broadcasting 
System's network at eight o'clock, EST. 




Burl Ives 



66 



Dear Editor: 

I think one of the most amazing people 
on the radio is the Answer Man. I have 
often wondered who he is and how he 
can find the answers to all those ques- 
tions. Also I would like to know if he 
has ever been stumped. 

Mrs. S. L. 
Chicago, 111. 




Albert Mitchell 



The Answer Man programs were origi- 
nated eleven years ago by Albert Mitchell, 
an orchestra leader, and Bruce Chapman, 

an alert radio producer. They were so successful that the Answer 
Man show has developed into an organization of more than fifty 
people, the largest general research staff in radio. Besides this they 
have a consulting list of experts in every imaginable field. Of the 
thousand questions received every day, forty of general interest 
are broadcast on each program and the others are answered by 
mail. However, no questions are answered over the phone and no 
legal or medical advice is given. In eleven years, The Answer Man 
has been stumped only once. It was by a question sent by a 
Boston patriot who asked: "Did Paul Revere's friend wave his 
lantern up and down — or sideways?" That question is written on 
parchment and framed in The Answer Man's office. 



♦ > 



*t 



? 








the answers we do know where to find them for you 



IT COULD BE 

Dear Editor: 

Would you mind telling me what's the matter with everybody? 
Every time you read a magazine you see pictures of these ugly 
singers, half of which don't even have nice voices. When there is 
a wonderful singer who is handsome nobody ever mentions him. 
Why? Naturally 1 mean Tommy Ryan (not the Chuck Foster one). 
People must be crazy! Or could it be me? 

Miss G. W. 
Oceanside, L. 1. 

Perhaps our tired old editorial eyes have been deceiving us these 
many years, or maybe tastes differ. But we can think, right off- 
hand, of a fat list of popular singers who leave little to be desired 
in the way of pleasing looks. Of course the important thing is that 
if a person has a fine voice and people find pleasure in hearing him 
sing, then it shouldn't matter whether he was lucky enough to be 
born handsome or not. Some people like sopranos, others like 
booming bassos, and what's nice-to-look-at in one person's eyes 
may not fill the bill for another. You like to look at and listen to 
Tommy Ryan — and so do a number of girls — and the number 
may be growing. There may be a lot of odd people wandering 
around but we don't think you can test their intelligence by check- 
ing up on their favorite singers — do you, now, really? 



GEORGIA GIBBS 

Dear Editor: 

Lately I have been looking all over the 
air for Georgia Gibbs. Where is she 
nowadays? 

S. J. 
Ballston Spa, N. Y. 

As we write this, Georgia is "guesting." 







Georgia Gibbs 



GONE AND FORGOTTEN 

Dear Editor: 

I have often seen radio serial stories reviewed and illustrated in 
your fine magazine. Perhaps you could give me some information 
about the story entitled Against The Storm. This serial is no 
longer on the air and I would like to know whether or not the 
story can be had in book form, and if so, from which publishing 
company it can be obtained. I always loved the story and would 
like to have it in my book collection. 

L. E. C. 

Brookville, Pa. 

We wish that we could help you with some information on the 
serial, Against The Storm, but we can't. It went off the air some 
time ago. It was written by Sandra and Peter Michael, who also 
write the currently-heard Lone Journey (Monday through Friday 
CBS, 2:30 EST). 

Serial scripts are almost always written on a day-to-day basis 
and are not published, so it's not possible to get Against The Storm 
in book form. In fact, they don't always make as good reading as 
they do listening, because they're designed for air production and 
depend so much on actors' voices and interpretation, on sound 
effects, on direction. 



HI i 


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Karl Swensun, when not Lord Henry, for- 
sakes Black Swan Hall for his own family. 



BLACK SWAN HALL 



Dear Editor: 

Kindly mail me Lord Henry Brinthrope's address. 

Mrs. N. E. D. 
Lynn, Mass. 

Sorry, but that is something we can never do. Fan mail for 
radio performers should be addressed to them in care of the 
station over which the broadcast has been heard. Home addresses 
are private property, carefully guarded so that professional folk 
have a chance to live as other people do when they are not work- 
ing, and if you give this some thought you will see that it is no 
more than fair. 



STAGE DOOR 

Dear Editor: 

My seventeen-year-old daughter is very much interested in be- 
coming an actress but doesn't know where to write or how to go 
about it Would you please be kind enough to give me the informa- 
tion? 

Mrs. F. H. 
Darien Center, N. Y. 

We're sorry we can't give you some specific information but we 
can only answer questions about radio and people on the air. 
However, your daughter might inquire at the local public library 
for a list of good dramatic schools and also about "summer stock" 
or "little theater" companies if there are such groups near your 
home. 



AT THE CONSOLE 

Dear Editor: 

I would greatly appreciate it if you could 
tell me what the following organists are 
doing now: Fred Feibel and Ann Leaf. I 
always enjoyed their playing very much and 
would like to hear them again. Should you 
be unable to furnish me with this informa- 
tion please advise me how I may obtain it. 
Mrs. B. C. K. 
Newark, N. J. 



Both Ann Leaf and Fred Feibel are kept busy these days at tht 
NBC studios. Ann Leaf plays the theme music and interludes for 
Lorenzo Jones and Front Page Farrell and Fred Feibel does the 
same for the Lora Lawton show. In addition, they both play for 
"stand-by" and station breaks. 













67 



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When A Girl Grows Up 

{Continued from page 41) 



"This Time For Keeps." In the other 
picture she has a longer role. She's 
in "Summer Holiday" (which is the 
picture version of Eugene O'Neill's play 
"Ah, Wilderness!"), with Mickey 
Rooney, Marilyn Maxwell, Gloria de 
Haven and Butch Jenkins. 

But even though she's only had two 
parts, she's been on the M.G.M. lot 
all day long every day. Mornings she 
goes to the M.G.M. school with Jane 
Powell, Elizabeth Taylor, Mary Jane 
Smith and others — studying geometry, 
history, French, English, and art. Aft- 
ernoons she takes singing and drama 
lessons. And in between she has lunch 
at the M.G.M. commissary, drinking in 
Hollywood with her milk. 

ONE lunch a few weeks ago was typi- 
cal. Anne sat with "the gang" de- 
ciding on what to order — Elizabeth 
Taylor and Jane Powell being two of 
the table full of girls. There were only 
two men at the next table — Frank 
Sinatra and a stranger. "The gang," 
after examining the menu, glanced 
idly over at Frank's table and were 
fascinated by whatever his friend was 
eating. Was it steak or liver? 

They argued amongst themselves for 
several minutes while the men got 
more and more flustered with the at- 
tention they were receiving. Then the 
girls told Anne, "You're sitting nearest 
their table. Ask him what it is." 

Anne was indeed nearest their table 
— she was back to back with Sinatra. 
Leaning across in front of Frank she 
asked his friend "What are you eating? 
We can't decide 1" 

Frank swung around — looking a bit 
bewildered — this was hardly what he 
had expected. 

But his friend announced that he was 
eating steak. The girls at the next 
table chorused thanks. Then they be- 
gan their argument again. It didn't 
look like steak, they said; it positively 
didn't . . . 

Finally Sinatra's friend good-na- 
turedly rose and came over to them. 
"It's steak, darn it," he said fiercely. 
"Would you each like a bit to prove?" 

That settled the argument. The girls 
hurriedly said no, ordered cheese sand- 
wiches and milk, and fell into uneasy 
silence until Sinatra (with his head 
still spinning) and his friend had de- 
parted. 

Away from the studio, everything 
has happened to Anne that could hap- 
pen in California. She has a boy friend 
exactly her age — not a heavy romance, 
just a good friend. But he's not the 
usual boy next door. He's actor Skippy 
Homeier. 

Skippy and his mother often drop 
in at the Francis apartment to talk over 
the good old days back in New York. 
Anne and Skippy met when they were 
nine, both working in Coast to Coast on 
a Bus. Now, they go to movies together, 
and on long horseback rides. Anne 
also has a girl friend she manages to 
see almost every evening — Mary Jane 
Smith, whose mother usually deposits 
her at the Francis door after dinner. 

The fact that there is a Francis door 
in the housing shortage astounds 
everyone but the two Francises. They 
now live in a charming four-room 
apartment, with maid service, a tele- 
phone, and a view of the Pacific Ocean. 
"I took it because it's near the streetcar 
line," says Mrs. Francis complacently. 

When people shriek that they would 



gladly take an apartment 1,000 miles 
from a streetcar line — just to get an 
apartment — Mrs. Francis and Anne 
look surprised. Then they tell how they 
got it . . . They spent their first few 
days in Hollywood at a hotel, eating at 
restaurants while Anne moaned aloud 
about how she missed her mother's 
magnificent cooking. Then they de- 
cided to get an apartment so that Mrs. 
Francis could start making her famed 
chocolate cake-and-steak dinners. 

"First we will go around and look at 
the apartment houses we would like 
to live in," they decided. "Then, when 
we find several that suit us in every 
way, we'll write letters to the owners 
asking for an apartment." 

That's just what they did. They 
wrote six letters stating their case his- 
tory: recently from New York City, 
they were anxious to find a home. And 
what happened? They got six answers 
— and took their pick of six apartments! 

"I know there's an apartment short- 
age. But it seemed so simple when 
we wanted one," Anne says now, look- 
ing confused. 

But they do know about the trans- 
portation shortage. They found out 
when one of Anne's boy friends from 
the East came out to pay them a week's 
visit. At the end of the visit he said 
farewell, got into a taxi and disap- 
peared in the direction of the airport. 
"I haven't got a reservation, but I'm 
not worried," he said in parting. At 
midnight that night, though, he was 
very worried. He rang them up, sheep- 
ishly announced that he was still sit- 
ting in the airport — and would it be 
all right if he came back to spend the 
night? "Early in the morning I'll go 
out to the airport again and I know 
I'll get out all right," said he. 

SO ANNE moved from her own bed- 
room back into her mother's. The de- 
parted guest arrived again and spent 
the night . . . and then the next night, 
and the next. He spent five nights in 
all before he really got a flight back 
East. "So we are aware of some of the 
shortages — even if we don't know about 
the housing one," Anne says now. 

Being in Hollywood hasn't changed 
Anne's idea on most things. Her closet 
still holds the same kind of clothes it 
did back East — sports dresses in blue 
mostly, and after that in white and 
black. And one favorite date dress: 
black with a tiny black cape studded 
with blue stones. And she never goes 
out of the house without wearing what 
she calls her good luck pin — a silver 
locket dangling from a silver bow, en- 
graved "Kathy — Love and Luck." It 
was given her by Elaine Carrington, 
the authoress of When A Girl Marries, 
when Anne headed West. 

She does have a new Hollywood 
dream, though. She wants to be a fine 
dramatic actress in films — and she 
wants a long black convertible car. 
"And I also want a rambling stone 
house overlooking the ocean, with a 
swimming pool, a huge living room, 
and six acres of beautiful dark green 
grass," says she eagerly. "And some 
day I want a happy marriage. Just 
one!" And she still wants to do radio 
work — lots of it — which might bring 
the Francises back to New York. 

But whether it's worn in the West 
or the East, what we'd like to borrow 
is that good luck pin of Anne's for a 
while — just long enough! 





tf^*^*. ****** ^ 
^l******** ******** 

*° ****** ***** ^* .*«**" 1 



«-* ***** ** .«>* 







GET ALL YOUR YITifflinS IN FOOD 

Tweet &te /l/m/ez, 66ky...4rt> Je&fo /ie<tu$!<r/ 



As you know, authorities agree that 
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authorities also agree, beyond question, 
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normal meals will give you all the vita- 
mins and minerals any normal person 
can use. And when you drink Ovaltine 
you get these vitamins and minerals 
the preferred way — in food. 

You'll find, too, that Ovaltine has a 
very agreeable taste — a taste that grows 



on you. So for better results, why don't 
you start drinking Ovaltine at meals, 
just as you would tea or coffee? Or, if 
you prefer, between meals or at bed- 
time. Then, if you're a normal person, 
you'll know, as far as you are concerned, 
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FAR MORE THAN VITAMINS . . . Ovaltine 
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"You're ri|)vt 




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RED-RfD 
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THEATRICAI R" 

NA TORAl 



Aunt Jenny Proves That Home Is Where 
The Heart Is 



(Continued from page 23) 



to get pretty discouraged. Anyone 
would! 

And looking at the girl, lying there so 
pale and worn out, and so near her time, 
too, I did what I'd sworn I'd never do. 
I heard myself saying, "Well — Calvin 
and I live here all alone, and I've got 
a nice big guest bedroom. You're wel- 
come to it, and to use of the kitchen, 
if you want." 

Did they want to stay? The girl's 
eyes flew open, and the boy kind of 
swallowed hard and said, "Oh — " and 
wasn't able to say anything else for 
about a minute. 

BUT mixed in with their gratitude was 
something else. It was a day or so 
before I began to notice it. Not that 
they didn't appreciate the room, be- 
cause they did. They were just a pair 
of decent, honest kids, and when they 
said I'd saved their lives I believed they 
meant it. Still — this wasn't what they 
wanted. I could feel that they knew it 
was just temporary, and were straining 
to make it as temporary as it could pos- 
sibly be. For instance, I didn't miss the 
excitement in Nick's tone the evening 
he came home and announced, as soon 
as he was inside the door, that a new 
housing development was being started. 

"There is?" Wanda said, leaning for- 
ward in her chair, and you'd have 
thought she'd just been told there was 
a chance of her inheriting a fortune. 
"When will it be ready?" 

"Well — " Nick said, and looked down 
at the floor. "Not for another six months, 
anyway." 

"Oh." Wanda sank back, all the ani- 
mation fading out of her face. "That 
long." 

The next day Wanda told me what 
the trouble was. Nick thought she 
ought to, she explained, and she agreed 
with him. But she didn't find it easy 
to put into words. 

"We've been married three years, 
Nick and I," said she, "and we've never 
had a place of our own, Aunt Jenny." 
Like everyone in Littleton, she and 
Nick were calling me that the day after 
they'd moved in. "I don't want you to 
think we aren't happy here with you — 
we are, and so very grateful, but — 
First I lived in a furnished room near 
the training camp where Nick was — 
then he went overseas and I stayed with 
his parents. I haven't any of my own. 
After he came back, we went on living 
there while Nick finished school. I 
thought when he got a job we'd have 
our own house or apartment." 

"And you will, Wanda," I assured 
her. "If you'll be patient — " 

She struck her knee, sharply, with 
her clenched fist. "That's just it, Aunt 
Jenny," she said. "I can't be patient — 
there isn't time! Oh, I know it's fool- 
ish, at least I keep telling myself it's 
foolish, but I simply have a feeling 
that when I bring my baby home from 
the hospital, if I don't bring him into a 
place that is ours — if I can't do that, 
something terrible will happen! I try 
to remember that it shouldn't make any 
difference, the baby will be too little 
to know what kind of a home he's 
brought to — but you can't argue with a 
feeling like that. It's — it's in here." She 
put her hand on her breast, over her 
heart. Tears glistened in her eyes. 

As she said, you can't argue with a 
feeling like that. The longing for a 



home is something that's planted deep 
in every woman — and if that longing is 
denied for too long, as it had been 
denied in Wanda's case, it's going to get 
all twisted and changed around and 
warped, until it's a danger to her and to 
everybody that loves her. 

Wanda just looked at me hopelessly. 
I really couldn't blame her — I knew, 
better than she did even, how little 
chance there was of such a house or 
apartment turning up. 

But then I thought of Armina and 
Hester Marsh, and Wanda, watching 
my face, said in sudden hope, "What 
is it, Aunt Jenny? You look as if you'd 
had an idea." 

"Maybe I have," I said slowly. 

Armina and Hester were sisters, 
daughters of old Judge Marsh who died 
in 1927. Mrs. Marsh had died long 
before that. For years Armina and 
Hester went on living in the old brick 
house on Forrest Avenue. Neither of 
them ever had a beau, and the general 
impression around town was that nei- 
ther wanted one. Folks said the Marsh 
sisters were "so devoted" to each 
other, and as far as anybody could tell, 
they were. 

Then, in 1940 I think it was or maybe 
1941, Hester — she was the younger one 
— suddenly moved out of the house on 
Forrest Avenue. She took her share of 
the Judge's estate and bought a smaller 
house for herself on the opposite side 
of town, in Prince's Addition. Neither 
she nor Armina ever told anyone what 
had happened, or why they'd quarrelled 
— but it was plain enough that they had 
quarrelled. If they met on the street 
they looked straight through each other, 
and Hester gave up her church mem- 
bership and joined another church so 
she wouldn't run into Armina. 

ONCE, soon after they'd separated, I 
remembered saying something to 
Armina about having seen Hester the 
day before, and Armina stiffened up 
and glared and snapped, "Jenny Wheel- 
er, please be kind enough never to 
mention my sister's name to me again." 
And her tone was enough to make me 
wish I hadn't mentioned it then. 

In six or seven years, though, peo- 
ple change. They get older — and the 
things that seemed important once 
don't seem so vital any longer. If I 
could persuade those two to make up 
their old quarrel, I thought, and move 
back into the same house again, so 
they could be some comfort and com- 
pany to one another — why, then there 
would be an empty house on the mar- 
ket, and I'd be the first one to know 
about it! 

Calvin and I talked it over, and de- 
cided that Armina was the one to talk 
to first. 1 Being the older, she was more 
set in her ways than Hester, more 
stubborn. So I went to Armina first, 
the next day. 

We sat there in the dark, walnut 
paneled living room where Judge 
Marsh used to entertain politicians and 
their wives, and we talked for awhile 
about church affairs and the latest 
news around town. Armina's hair, 
touched with grey, was piled up on top 
of her head in a pompadour, and she 
had a watch on a chain around her 
neck. As she talked, her long thin 
fingers twisted the chain. Looking at 
her, I almost (Continued on page 74) 



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71 




A product of Lever Brothers Company 



'Be UmmBiimrf 



"My Beauty Facials bring quick 



new 



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a 



I n e S S, says this famous star 



C/0CO want skin that's lovely 
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Here's the gentle Active-lather care June Allyson 
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72 



use Lux Toilet Soap_ /ax £/>& #re prefer/ 







Support your head in proper style: 

on a young, well-cared-for throat 








g/binaA &JlC*>e> whose slim 
singer's throat needs constant 
special care, and gets it. 



NO MATTER how beautiful your face, it becomes a pretty lost cause 
if its pedestal — your throat — doesn't match. 
Scrubbing your neck — all the way around, and up behind your 
ears — is what you learned to do in childhood. It's a habit you should 
keep until you're too old to care — and whoever is too old? 

Assume good head posture. Lift your chest so that automatically 
your shoulders are pulled back and your spinal column is straightened. 
Hold your chin parallel with the floor, and your head high. Now 
learn to hold this posture. For, when you let your chin drop forward, 
the back-of-the-neck muscles are stretched; the front muscles short- 
ened, and thus you develop double chin. The same thing happens, in 
reverse, when you let your head fall back. 

To help keep the chin muscles firm, here's a sample exercise. 
Let the head drop far back, open your mouth wide, then close it. A 
good pull should be felt. Uo it twenty times daily. 

Lanie Harper, green-eyed brunette on County Fair, does this exer- 
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the left as far as it will go, then to the right. Repeat ten times. Smil- 
ing, she smilingly claims, is a pleasant way to help tauten chin muscles. 

Dinah Shore says when the muscles and cords of her neck become 
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cream or oil into her neck. She works from the base of her neck to 
her chin, up the sides to her ears, then around to the back. 

Hollace Shaw and Marilyn Martin both agree that throat adornment 
should depend not only on your dress neckline, but also on the length 
and appearance of your neck. Women with short necks should avoid 
wearing choker necklaces, no matter how lovely, or whose gift it is, 
because they make the neck look as if it were squatting on the 
shoulders. A choker necklace belongs on a long neck. 

As a final tip to neck beauty, these two talented and pretty radio 
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line should not stop with your chin, but be extended way down to 
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" the *Je«Wer ../! tkt9at 

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a singer's 
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3 Peer's Joveiy -; ~ **..«Min, 



throat- 
enl to J oofc 



"eeds 
ts best. 



BY MARY JANE 
FULTON 



- A 



ft, »" 




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(Continued from page 71) gave up and 
went home without mentioning what 
I'd come to say. I couldn't believe it 
would do any good. 

I wouldn't be such a coward, though, 
so finally I said, "Armina, I really 
came over here to talk to you about 
something very serious." 

Her eyes opened wide, and she said, 
"Serious? Well, what is it?" in a tone 
that seemed to say she hoped I wasn't 
going to interfere in what wasn't my 
business. 

"It's been five or six years since Hes- 
ter left this house," I said bluntly. 
"Don't you think it's about time she 
came back?" 

Her chin jerked up an inch higher, 
and the hand that was playing with 
the gold chain dropped to the arm of 
her chair. "I told you once never to 
mention her name to me," she said. 

"I know you did, and if you still feel 
that way I'm sorry," I answered. "I just 
hoped you might have changed your 
mind. Because it's a sin and a shame 
for two sisters, alone in the world ex- 
cept for each other, to live apart with 
bitterness in their hearts." 

I'd always felt sorry for Armina 
and Hester Marsh. Now I pitied 
Armina, at least, more than ever, be- 
cause I realized that deep in her heart 
she regretted the quarrel. 

"Try to make up with Hester," I 
urged. "I'll bet right now she's wish- 
ing, same as you are, that it hadn't 
ever happened, and that she could be 
back here living with you." 

"No," Armina said, "she's not. You're 
wasting your time, Jenny. The quar- 
rel wasn't mine, to begin with. It was 
Hester's fault entirely, and she's stub- 
born as a mule — always was. I'm not 
saying I wouldn't like to have her 
back here, because I would. But I know 
she'd never come." 

"We'll see," I said. I was so set up 
over my success with Armina I felt 
as if I could accomplish almost any- 
thing. And what's more, I didn't be- 
lieve Hester was as stubborn as Armina 
said she was. I've noticed that it's the 
stubborn people who are always ac- 
cusing other folks of that failing. "I'm 
going over to talk to Hester tonight 
right after supper," I declared. 

I stopped being so optimistic after 
I'd been inside Hester's little white- 
shingled bungalow for five minutes. 
For one thing, I almost had the notion 
Hester knew why I'd come. I hadn't 
ever seen her so nervous, moving 
jerkily around in her chair while we 
talked and hardly seeming to know 
what I was saying, half the time. Two 



little spots of pink glowed high up on 
her cheeks, and if I hadn't known she 
never used it I'd have thought the color 
came from rouge. 

When I brought up Armina's name 
she almost jumped out of her chair. 
"Armina?" she gasped. "She — she 
asked you to talk to me?" 

"She did not," I said. "You may call 
me a meddling old woman, Hester, but 
I'm a good friend to both of you, and 
I hate to see you going along like this. 
I will say that I talked to Armina, this 
afternoon, and she for one would like 
to make up. She told me so." 

"She did?" The look Hester gave me 
was wistful and yet, somehow, scared. 
"Oh, Jenny, I'd like to be friends with 
her too — I never wanted to quarrel, and 
it was all her fault that we did — " 

The pink on Hester's cheeks deep- 
ened. "It was foolish, I guess — just over 
a dress I'd bought. Armina said it was 
too bright for me and — and I guess she 
was probably right, but it was the way . 
she said it — Armina can be a very 
domineering person, you know, and 
ever since we were girls she always 
told me what to wear and how to act. 
And finally I — " She set her small, 
pointed chin. "I just rebelled." 

"Maybe Armina's changed," I urged. 
"Maybe now that you've shown how 
you can get along without her, she'll 
treat you more like a grown-up." 

"I don't know." Hester got up from 
her chair, pressing her hands together 
in agitation. No doubt about it, she was 
awfully jumpy this evening. "I can't 
believe she — " 

"Give her a chance," I said. "I'll 
tell you — tomorrow afternoon, you 
come to my house, and I'll invite 
Armina too. I'll make some of my 
raspberry scones, and we'll have tea. 
Maybe you'll both find you can be 
friends." 

Eagerly, Hester said, "Oh, I hope so! 
I'd like to, I really would, if — if 
Armina's willing." 

Well, that was a pretty good day's 
work, I thought as I left Hester's house 
and walked along the street. So far, it 
had been a lot easier than I'd hoped or 
expected — both Marsh girls were a lit- 
tle ashamed of themselves, ready to be 
friends again, but not sure how to go 
about it. Tomorrow — 

I was so wrapped up in my own 
thoughts I didn't even see Mel Harkin 
coming along the street until he spoke 
to me. We stopped and chatted a 
minute, and I thought to myself he 
was looking better these days than he 
had for quite a few months after his 
wife died. Mel (Continued on page 76) 



Tune in "PHILCO RADIO TIME' 

WEDNESDAY, FEBRUARY 19th 

Gala Reunion Program 

honoring I 

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WINNER OF THE 1946 

PHOTOPLAY GOLD MEDAL AWARD 

As America's most popular actor 

Don't miss it! Hear Bing Crosby and the great stars of 
screen and radio who have appeared with him in a Gala 
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75 



There was about her a dainty grace, 

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AT ANY DRUG. DEPARTMENT. OR TEN-CENT STORE 



(Continued from page 74) is the man- 
ager of the power company's office in 
Littleton, and one of the finest men I've 
ever known. 

The next day, after I'd telephoned 
Armina and gotten her promise to 
come, I told Wanda she'd have to co- 
operate by staying in her room while 
the Marsh girls were in the house — I 
didn't want any strangers around to 
make Armina and Hester uncomfort- 
able. Wanda said she'd do anything I 
said, and she helped me cut flowers 
and bake scones and set the tea table 
in the living room. We made every- 
thing as nice as we could, all gay and 
festive so it would look like a real 
party. Of course Wanda didn't know 
why having the Marshes was impor- 
tant — she just knew that it was. 

Truth to tell, I was in a flutter any- 
way, but I didn't want anyone to know 
it. When the doorbell rang I almost 
fell over the hall runner hurrying to 
answer. 

It was Armina, looking very stately 
and severe. I began to see how she 
could have dominated Hester, though 
it was something I'd never even 
thought of before. Her eyes went past 
me, searching the living room, and she 
said, "She — she isn't here yet? Perhaps 
she won't come, after all." 

"She will," I said. "She promised." 

1RMINA sat down. "I've been think - 
/I ing, ever since I talked to you yester- 
day," she said. "I — I told you the 
quarrel was all Hester's fault, but that 
wasn't — quite true. I guess I always was 
too bossy with her." She swallowed. 
"I wouldn't — blame her if she thought 
it over and decided not to come." 

The poor thing. She was starchy 
enough on the outside — but inwardly 
she was as jumpy and hopeful as I was. 

The doorbell rang again, and Armina 
froze in her chair. I went and pulled 
it open, and Hester came in. 

For maybe a minute, there was 
silence while they looked at each other. 
Then Armina moistened her lips. 

"Hester," she said. "My dear sister." 
And held out her hands. 

Hester gave a little cry and ran to 
her, and then they were kissing and 
hugging each other, and both of them 
weeping a little. I tiptoed out into the 
kitchen, feeling happier than a mead- 
owlark. 

It was a nice party we had, starting 
about a quarter of an hour later, after 
they'd had time to dry their' eyes and 
compose themselves. They sat side by 
side on the couch, and ate every one of 
my scones and drank several cups, of 
tea apiece, and the three of us talked 
and laughed like there'd never been 
any trouble between the Marshes at all. 

"And to think," Armina said after a 
time, "that both of us wanted to make 
up — but never did it. What silly peo- 
ple! Why, if it hadn't been for Jenny 
I don't suppose we'd ever have spoken 
to one another again." 

"We owe you a great deal, Jenny," 
Hester said. "I wish there were some 
way we could repay you." 

I couldn't have asked for a better 
opening than that. "There's just one 
thing you can do for me," I told Hester. 
"Let two young people I know have 
first chance at renting your little 
house." 

"Oh, but — " Hester said, and stopped, 
and went on in a different tone. "I 
won't be giving up the house, Jenny." 

"You won't?" I said, and saw Armina 
lean over and put her teacup back on 
the table. I felt as if somebody had 
just jerked my chair out from under 
me. "Why — (Continued on page 78) 



¥//g/f sc/too/ g/r/s cou/d 

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dissolve it in warm water, after your shampoo 
...then, brush or pour it through your hair. In a 
jiffy, dulling soap film vanishes! Your hair is 
softer and easier to manage, lovelier than ever. 
More Color ... a little or a lot. Marchand's 
color chart tells you which rinse to use for the 
effect you desire for your hair. If gray strands 
are your problem, there's a shade to blend them 
in with your original hair color! 

Absolutely Harmless . . . Marchand's Rinse is 
not a bleach, not a permanent dye. It's as safe to 
use as lemon or vinegar and washes out easily 
the next time you shampoo your hair. 

archancTs 

^" "Make-Up" 
HAIR RINSE 

6 RINSES-25c • 2 RINSES-lOc 

Plus Tax 
By the Makers of Marchand's Golden Hair Wash 



78 



(Continued from page 76) aren't you 
going to move back into the old house 
with Armina?" 

"No, I — " Hester threw a quick look 
at Armina and at the suddenly grim